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Diddie,    Dumps;  and    Tot 


or 


Plantation    Child  -  Life 


BY 


LOUISE-CLARKE  PYRNELLE 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  Y0RK  AND   LONDON 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 


^r-ER'S  YOUNG  PEOPLE  SERIES 


ILLUSTRATED.       EACH,  SIXTY  CENTS 


FRANCONIA  STORIES 
By  Jacob  Abbott 
Agnes  Mary  Bell 

Beechnut  Mary  Erskin 

Caroline  Rodolphus 

Ellen  Linn  Stuyvesant 

Malleville  Wallace 

By  W.  L.  Alden 
The  Moral  Pirates 
The  Cruise  of  the  "Ghost" 
The  Cruise  of  the  Canoe  Club 
The    Adventures    of    Jimmy    Brown 
Jimmy  Brown  Trying  to  Find  Europe 
A   New   Robinson   Crusoe 

By  James  Barnes 
The    Blockaders 

By  William  Black 
The  Four  Macnicols 

By  Lewis  Carroll 
Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland 
Alice    Through    the    Looking-Glass 
The  Hunting  of  the  Snark 

By  Col.  W.  F.  Cody 
The  Adventures  of  Buffalo  Bill 

By  P.  De  Musset 
Mr.   Wind   and    Madam   Rain 

By  G.  C.  Eggleston 
Strange   Stories   from   History 

By  John  Habberton 
Who  Was  Paul  Grayson? 

By  Mrs.  W.  J.  Hays 
Prince    Lazybones 
The  Princess  Idleways 

By  W.  J.  Henderson 
Sea  Yarns  for  Boys 

By  George  A.  Henty 
In  the  Hands  of  the  Cave-Dwellers 

By  Ernest  Ingersoll 
The  Ice  Queen 

By  David  Ker 
The   Lost   City 
Into  Unknown  Seas 

By  Lucy  C.  Lillie 
Mildred's   Bargain 
Nan 

Jo's  Opportunity 
Rolf   House 
Music  and  Musicians 
The  Colonel's  Money 
The  Household  of  Glen  Holly 
Phil  and  the  Baby 
The  False  Witness 

By  L.  B.  Morse 
The  Road  to  Nowhere 

By  Miss  Mulock 
Little   Sunshine's   Holiday 
The  Cousin  from  India 
Twenty   Years  Ago 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Copyright,  1882,  by 


Is  It  True? 

Miss  Moore 

An  Only  Sister 

The  Little  Lame  Prince 

The  Adventures  of  a  Brownie 

By  Kirk  Munroe 
Wakulla 

The  Flamingo  Feather 
Derrick    Sterling 
Chrystal,   Jack  Js:   Co. 

By  James  Otis 
Toby  Tyler,   or,   Ten   Weeks  with  a 

Circus 
Mr.   Stubbs's   Brother 
Tim  and  Tip 
Raising  the  "Pearl" 
Silent  Pete;    or,  The  Stowaways 
Left  Behind;   or,  Ten  Weeks  a  News- 
boy 
Wanted 
The  Roaring  Lions.     Illustrated. 

By  George  B.  Perry 
Uncle  Peter's  Trust 

Mrs.  L.  C.  Pyrnelle 
Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot 

By  M.  E.  Sangster 
Little  Knights  and  Ladies — Poems 

By  W.  O.  Stoddard 
The  Talking  Leaves 
Two   Arrows 
The  Red  Mustang 
In  the  Open 

By  Sofhie  Swett 
Captain  Polly 

STRANGE  STORIES  FROM 
■     AMERICAN   HISTORY 
Strange  Stories  of  Colonial  Days 
Strange  Stories  of  the   Revolution 
Strange  Stories  of  the   War  of   1S12 
Strange  Stories  of  the  Civil  War 

ADVENTURE   SERIES 
Adventures  of  Uncle  Sam's  Soldiers 
Adventures  of  Uncle  Sam's  Sailors 
Adventures  of  Pirates 
Adventures  with  Indians 
Adventures   at   Sea 
Adventures  in  Field  and  Forest 
Adventures  of  School  Life 

ATHLETIC   SERIES 
On  Track  and  Diamond 
On  the  Gridiron 
Boys  on  the  Railroad 
Making  Good 
The  Runaway  Flying-Machine 

By  Various  Authors 
The  King  of  the  Plains 
The  Young  Detective 
Tommy's  Money 


PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 
Harper  &  Brothers 


Copyright,  1910,  by  Mary  C.  Motley 

K-Q 


TO   MY   DEAR   FATHER 

DR.    RICHARD     CLARKE 

OF    SELMA,  ALABAMA 

\ 

MY    HERO.    AND    MY    BEAU    IDEAL    OF    A    GENTLEMAN 

J    JDeoicaie   tfjie    Book 

WITH    THE    LOVE   OF    HIS 

DAUGHTER 


PUBLISHER'S   NOTE 


In  issuing  another  edition  of  Mrs.  Louise  Clarke  Pyrnelle's 
ever-popular  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot  it  seems  fitting  to  speak 
of  the  distinctive  and  permanent  place  which  the  author 
has  secured  as  the  interpreter  o:  plantation  child  life.  In  the 
field  of  folk-lore  we  have  "Uncle  Remus,"  and  in  the  picturing 
of  child  life,  Mrs.  Pyrnelle.  The  sympathetic  understanding, 
quaint  humor,  and  vividness  of  her  tales  of  the  old  South 
have  given  her  work  an  enduring  charm  which  is  reinforced 
by  its  historical  value  as  a  delightful  picture  of  a  life  which 
has  passed  away. 

It  is  therefore  peculiarly  gratifying  to  be  able  to  answer 
innumerable  inquiries  by  the  announcement  that  a  new  book 
by  Mrs.  Clarke  Pyrnelle,  entitled  Miss  Li'V  Tweetty,  is  to  be 
published  early  in  the  coming  year.  In  this  book,  as  in 
Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot,  Mrs.  Pyrnelle's  intimate  understand- 
ing of  the  "Mammies,"  "Uncles,"  and  "Aunties"  of  the  old 
plantation  life  of  which  she  was  a  part,  gives  her  stories  a 
quality  distinctive  and  more  than  ever  appealing  now  that 
this  life  belongs  to  history. 

New  York,  October,  igi6. 


PREFACE. 


IN  writing  this  little  volume,  I  had  for  my  primary 
object  the  idea  of  keeping  alive  many  of  the  old 
stories,  legends,  traditions,  games,  hymns,  and  supersti- 
tions of  the  Southern  slaves,  which,  with  this  generation 
of  negroes,  will  pass  away.  There  are  now  no  more  dear 
old  "  Mammies "  and  "  Aunties "  in  our  nurseries,  no 
more  good  old  "  Uncles "  in  the  workshops,  to  tell  the 
children  those  old  tales  that  have  been  told  to  our  moth- 
ers and  grandmothers  for  generations — the  stories  that 
kept  our  fathers  and  grandfathers  quiet  at  night,  and 
induced  them  to  go  early  to  bed  that  they  might  hear 
them  the  sooner. 

Nor  does  my  little  book  pretend  to  be  any  defence 
of  slavery.  I  know  not  whether  it  was  right  or  wrong 
(there  are  many  pros  and  cons  on  that  subject);  but  it 


vi  Preface. 

was  the  law  of  the  land,  made  by  statesmen  from  the 
North  as  well  as  the  South,  long  before  my  day,  or  my 
father's  or  grandfather's  day ;  and,  born  under  that  law 
a  slave  -  holder,  and  the  descendant  of  slave  -  holders, 
raised  in  the  heart  of  the  cotton  section,  surrounded  by 
negroes  from  my  earliest  infancy,  "  I  KNOW  whereof  I 
do  speak ;"  and  it  is  to  tell  of  the  pleasant  and  happy 
relations  that  existed  between  master  and  slave  that  I 
write  this  story  of  "  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot." 

The  stories,  plantation  games,  and  hymns  are  just  as 
I  heard  them  in  my  childhood.  I  have  learned  that 
Mr.  Harris,  in  "  Uncle  Remus,"  has  already  given  the 
"  Tar  Baby ;"  but  I  have  not  seen  his  book,  and,  as  our 
versions  are  probably  different,  I  shall  let  mine  remain 
just  as  "Chris"  told  it  to  the  "  chil'en." 

I  hope  that  none  of  my  readers  will  be  shocked  at 
the  seeming  irreverence  of  my  book,  for  that  intimacy 
with  the  "Lord"  was  characteristic  of  the  negroes.  They 
believed  implicitly  in  a  Special  Providence  and  direct 
punishment  or  reward,  and  that  faith  they  religiously 
tried    to    impress    upon    their  young    charges,  white   or 


Preface.  vii 

black  ;    and  "  heavy,  heavy  hung  over  our  heads"  was  the 
DEVIL ! 

The  least  little  departure  from  a  marked-out  course 
of  morals  or  manners  was  sure  to  be  followed  by,  "  Nem' 
min',  de  deb'l  gwine  git  yer." 

And  what  the  Lord  'lowed  and  what  he  didn't  'low 
was  perfectly  well  known  to  every  darky.  For  instance, 
"he  didn't  'low  no  singin'  uv  week-er-day  chunes  uv  er 
Sunday,"  nor  "no  singin'  uv  reel  chunes"  (dance  music) 
at  any  time ;  nor  did  he  "  'low  no  sassin'  of  ole  pussons." 
The  "  chu'ch  membahs  "  had  their  little  differences  of 
opinion.  Of  course  they  might  differ  on  such  minor 
points  as  "immersion"  and  "sprinklin',"  "open"  or 
"close"  communion;  but  when  it  came  to  such  grave 
matters  as  "singin'  uv  reel  chunes,"  or  "sassin'  uv  ole 
pussons,"  Baptists  and  Methodists  met  on  common 
ground,  and  stood  firm. 

Nor  did  our  Mammies  and  Aunties  neglect  our  man- 
ners. To  say  "yes"  or  "no"  to  any  person,  white  or 
black,  older  than  ourselves  was  considered  very  rude ;  it 
must  always  be  "  yes,  mam,"  "  no,  mam  ;"  "  yes.  sir,"  "  no, 


vlii  Preface. 

sir;"  and  those  expressions  are  still,  and  I  hope  ever  will 
be,  characteristic  of  Southerners. 

The  child-life  that  I  have  portrayed  is  over  now ;  for  no 
hireling  can  ever  be  to  the  children  what  their  Mammies 
were,  and  the  strong  tie  between  the  negroes  and  "  mars- 
ter's  chil'en"  is  broken  forever. 

So,  hoping  that  my  book  (which  claims  no  literary  mer- 
it) will  serve  to  amuse  the  little  folks,  and  give  them  an 
insight  into  a  childhood  peculiar  to  the  South  in  her  palmy 
days,  without  further  preface  I  send  out  my  volume  of 
Plantation  Child-life. 

Louise-Clarke  Pyrnelle. 

Columbus,  Ga. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot „  13 

II.  Christmas  on  the  Old  Plantation    ....  29 

III.  Mammy's  Story 44 

IV.  Old  Billy 50 

V.  Diddie's  Book 67 

VI.  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob's  Sunday-school    ...  82 

VII.  Poor  Ann 92 

VIII.  Uncle  Bob's  Proposition 106 

IX.  Aunt  Edy's  Story in 

X.  Plantation  Games 119 

XI.  Diddie  in  Trouble 128 

XII.  How  the  Woodpecker's  Head  and  the  Robin's 

Breast  Came  to  be  Red 14a 

XIII.  A  Plantation    Meeting,  and  Uncle   Daniel's 

Sermon 152 

XIV.  Diddie  and  Dumps  go  Visiting 166 

XV.  The  Fourth  of  July 182 

XVI.  "  'Struck'n  uv  de  Chil'en  " 199 

XVII.  What  Became  of  Them 0212 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Evening  Devotions Frontispiece. 

Sanitary  Measures ig 

Playing  "  Injuns  " 39 

'Ole  Billy" 59 

"  The  Tar  Baby  " 79 

"My  Min',  hit's  Made  up"  ...     „ 103 

"Yer'll  all  be  Havin'  de  Croup  next" 135 

"  Well,  my  Invice  is  dis  " 147 

"  Monahs  'pun  Top  er  Monahs" 163 

"  Bringin'  'im  the  Picnic" 171 

"Swinging  on  Grape-vines  and  Riding  on  Saplings".  195 

"  'Struck'n  uv  de  Chil'en  " 201 


Diddle,  Dtimps,  and  Tot.  21 

this  "top -knot,"  she  would  pull  with  all  her  might  to 
bring  up  the  palate.  The  unlucky  little  "nig"  in  the 
meanwhile  kept  up  the  most  unearthly  yells,  for  so  great 
was  the  depravity  among  them  that  they  had  rather  have 
their  palates  down  than  up.  Keeping  their  "  palate  locks  " 
tied  was  a  source  of  great  trouble  and  worriment  to  Aunt 
Nancy. 

The  winter  was  always  a  great  season  with  the  children ; 
Mammy  would  let  them  have  so  many  candy-stews,  and 
they  parched  "goobers"  in  the  evenings,  and  Aunt  Milly 
had  to  make  them  so  many  new  doll's  clothes,  to  "  keep 
them  quiet,"  as  Dumps  said ;  and  such  romps  and  games 
as  they  would  have  in  the  old  nursery ! 

There  were  two  rooms  included  in  the  nursery — one  the 
children's  bedroom  and  the  other  their  playroom,  where 
they  kept  all  their  toys  and  litter;  and  during  the  win- 
ter bright  wood  fires  were  kept  up  in  both  rooms,  that  the 
children  might  not  take  cold,  and  around  both  fireplaces 
were  tali  brass  fenders  that  were  kept  polished  till  they 
shone  like  gold.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  precaution,  do  you 
know  that  once  Dilsey,  Diddie's  little  maid,  actually  caught 
on  fire,  and  her  linsey  dress  was  burned  off,  and  Aunt  Milly 
had  to  roll  her  over  and  over  on  the  floor,  and  didn't  get 
her  put  out  till  her  little  black  neck  was  badly  burned, 
and  her  little  woolly  head  all  singed.  After  that  she  had 
to  be  nursed  for  several  days.     Diddie  carried  her  hef 


22  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  ToL 

meals,  and  Dumps  gave  her  "  Stella,"  a  china  doll  that  was 
perfectly  good,  only  she  had  one  leg  off  and  her  neck 
cracked ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  was  a  great  favorite  in  the 
nursery,  and  it  grieved  Dumps  very  much  to  part  with 
her;  but  she  thought  it  was  her  "Christian  juty,"as  she 
told  Diddie;  so  Aunt  Milly  made  Stella  a  new  green  mus- 
lin dress,  and  she  was  transferred  to  Dilsey. 

There  was  no  railroad  near  the  plantation,  but  it  was 
only  fifteen  miles  to  the  river,  and  Major  Waldron  would 
go  down  to  New  Orleans  every  winter  to  lay  in  his  year's' 
supplies,  which  were  shipped  by  steamboats  to  the  land- 
ing and  hauled  from  there  to  the  plantation.  It  was  a 
jolly  time  for  both  white  and  black  when  the  wagons  came 
from  the  river ;  there  were  always  boxes  of  fruits  and  can- 
dies and  nuts,  besides  large  trunks  which  were  carried  into 
the  store-room  till  Christmas,  and  which  everybody  knew 
contained  Christmas  presents  for  "  all  hands."  One  winter 
evening  in  1853,  the  children  were  all  gathered  at  the  big 
gate,  on  the  lookout  for  the  wagons.  Diddie  was  perched 
upon  one  gate-post  and  Dumps  on  the  other,  while  Tot 
was  sitting  on  the  fence,  held  on  by  Riar,  lest  she  might 
fall.  Dilsey  and  Chris  were  stationed  'way  down  the  road 
to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  wagons.  They  were  all 
getting  very  impatient,  for  they  had  been  out  there  nearly 
an  hour,  and  it  was  now  getting  so  late  they  knew  Mammy 
would  not  let  them  stay  much  longer. 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  23 

"  I  know  de  reason  dey  so  late,  Miss  Diddie,"  said  Riar- 
"dey  got  dat  new  mule  Sam  in  de  lead  in  one  de  wagins. 
and  Unker  Bill  say  he  know  he  gwine  cut  up,  fum  de  look 
in  he's  eyes." 

"  Uncle  Bill  don't  know  everything,"  answered  Diddie. 
-'  There  are  six  mules  in  the  wagon,  and  Sam's  jest  only 
one  of  'em;  1  reckon  he  can't  cut  up  much  by  hisself; 
five's  more  'n  one,  ain't  it?" 

"  I  do  b'lieve  we've  been  out  hyear  er  hun-der-d  hours," 
said  Dumps,  yawning  wearily ;  and  just  then  Dilsey  and 
Chris  came  running  towards  the  gate,  waving  their  arms 
and  crying, 

"  Hyear  dey  come !  hyear  dey  come !"  and,  sure  enough, 
the  great  white-covered  wagons  came  slowly  down  the 
road,  and  Major  Waldron  on  Prince,  his  black  horse,  rid- 
ing in  advance. 

He  quickened  his  pace  when  he  caught  sight  of  the 
children  ;  for  he  was  very  fond  of  his  little  daughters,  and 
had  been  away  from  them  two  weeks,  trading  in  New  Or- 
leans. He  rode  up  now  to  the  fence,  and  lifting  Tot  to 
the  saddle  before  him,  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

Diddie  and  Dumps  scrambled  down  from  the  gate-posts 
and  ran  along  by  the  side  of  Prince  to  the  house,  where 
their  mamma  was  waiting  on  the  porch.  And  oh!  such 
a  joyful  meeting !  such  hugging  and  kissing  all  around ! 

Then  the  wagons  came  up,  and  the  strong  negro  men 


24  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

began  taking  out  the  boxes  and  bundles  and  carrying 
them  to  the  store -room. 

"  Hand  me  out  that  covered  basket,  Nelson,"  said  Major 
Waldron  to  one  of  the  men  ;  and,  taking  it  carefully  to  the 
house,  he  untied  the  cover,  and  there  lay  two  little  white 
woolly  puppies — one  for  Diddie,  and  one  for  Dumps. 

The  little  girls  clapped  their  hands  and  danced  with 
delight. 

"Ain't  they  lovely?"  said  Dumps,  squeezing  hers  in  her 
arms. 

"  Lubly,"  echoed  Tot,  burying  her  chubby  little  hands 
in  the  puppy's  wool,  while  Diddie  cuddled  hers  in  her  arms 
as  tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby. 

Mammy  made  a  bed  for  the  doggies  in  a  box  in  one 
corner  of  the  nursery,  and  the  children  were  so  excited 
and  so  happy  that  she  could  hardly  get  them  to  bed  at 
all ;  but  after  a  while  Tot's  blue  eyes  began  to  droop,  and 
she  fell  asleep  in  Mammy's  arms,  murmuring,  "  De  booful 
itty  doggie." 

"  De  booful  itty  doggies,"  however,  did  not  behave  very 
well ;  they  cried  and  howled,  and  Dumps  insisted  on  tak- 
ing hers  up  and  rocking  him  to  sleep. 

"  Hit's  er  gittin'  so  late,  honey,"  urged  Mammy,  "  let  'urn 
stay  in  de  box,  an'  go  ter  bed  now,  like  good  chil'en." 

"  I  know  I  ain't,  Mammy,"  replied  Dumps.  "  You  mus 
think  I  ain't  got  no  feelin's  ter  go  ter  bed  an'  leave  'im 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  25 

hollerin'.  I'm  er  goin'  ter  rock  'im  ter  sleep  in  my  little 
rockin'-cheer,  an'  you  needn't  be  er  fussin'  at  me  nuther." 

"  I  ain't  er  fussin'  at  yer,  chile ;  I'm  jes'  visin'  uv  yer  fur 
yer  good  ;  caze  hit's  yer  bedtime,  an'  dem  puppies  will 
likely  holler  all  night." 

"  Then  we  will  sit  up  all  night,"  said  Diddie,  in  her  de- 
termined way.  "  I'm  like  Dumps ;  I'm  not  going  to  bed 
an'  leave  'im  cryin'." 

So  Mammy  drew  her  shawl  over  her  head  and  lay  back 
in  her  chair  for  a  nap,  while  Diddie  and  Dumps  took  the 
little  dogs  in  their  arms  and  sat  before  the  fire  rocking; 
and  Chris  and  Dilsey  and  Riar  all  squatted  on  the  floor 
around  the  fender,  very  much  interested  in  the  process  o! 
getting  the  puppies  quiet. 

Presently  Dumps  began  to  sing: 

"  Ef 'n  'ligion  was  er  thing  that  money  could  buy, 
O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign ; 
De  rich  would  live,  an'  de  po'  would  die, 
O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign.  ^ 

Chorus. 
O  reign,  reign,  reign,  er  my  Lord, 

O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign : 
O  reign,  reign,  reign,  er  my  Lord, 

O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign. 

But  de  Lord  he  'lowed  he  wouldn't  have  it  so, 

O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign  ; 
Sa  de  rich  mus'  die  ies'  same  as  de  po', 

O  reign,  Marse  Jesus,  er  reign." 


26  Diddie,  Dumps \  and  Tot. 

This  was  one  of  the  plantation  hymns  with  which 
Mammy  often  used  to  sing  Tot  to  sleep,  and  all  the  chil- 
dren were  familiar  with  the  words  and  air;  so  now  they 
all  joined  in  the  singing,  and  very  sweet  music  it  was. 
They  had  sung  it  through  several  times,  and  the  puppies, 
finding  themselves  so  outdone  in  the  matter  of  noise,  had 
curled  up  in  the  children's  laps  and  were  fast  asleep,  when 
Diddie  interrupted  the  chorus  to  ask : 

"  Dumps,  what  are  you  goin'  ter  name  your  doggie  ?" 

"  I  b'lieve  I'll  name  'im  '  Papa,'  "  replied  Dumps,  "  be- 
cause he  give  'im  ter  me." 

"  '  Papa,'  indeed  !"  said  Diddie,  contemptuously;  "  that's 
no  name  for  a  dog ;  I'm  goin'  ter  name  mine  aftei  some 
great  big  somebody." 

"  Lord-ee !  I  tell  yer,  Miss  Diddie ;  name  'im  Marse 
Samson,  atter  de  man  w'at  Mammy  wuz  tellin'  'bout  totin' 
off  de  gates,"  said  Dilsey. 

"  No  yer  don't,  Miss  Diddie ;  don't  yer  name  Mm  no 
sich,"  said  Chris ;  "  le's  name  im'  Marse  Whale,  w'at  swal- 
lered  de  man  an'  nuber  chawed  'im." 

"  No,  I  sha'n't  name  him  nothin'  out'n  the  Bible,"  said 
Diddie,  "  because  that's  wicked,  and  maybe  God  wouldn't 
let  him  live,  just  for  that ;  I  b'lieve  I'll  name  him  Christo- 
pher Columbus,  'cause  if  he  hadn't  discovered  America 
there  wouldn't  er  been  no  people  hyear,  an'  I  wouldn't  er 
had  no  father  nor  mother,  nor  dog,  nor  nothin' ;  an',  Dumps, 


Diddie,  Dumps,  a?id  Tot.-  27 

sposin'  you  name  yours  Pocahontas,  that  was  er  bean-tuful 
Injun  girl,  an'  she  throwed  her  arms  'roun'  Mr.  Smith  an' 
never  let  the  tomahawks  kill  'im." 

"  I  know  I  ain't  goin'  to  name  mine  no  Injun,"  said 
Dumps,  decidedly. 

"  Yer  right,  Miss  Dumps ;  now  yer's  er  talkin',"  said 
Riar ;  "  I  wouldn't  name  'im  no  Injun ;  have  'im  tearin' 
folks'  hyar  off,  like  Miss  Diddie  reads  in  de  book.  I  don't 
want  ter  hab  nuffin  'tall  ter  do  wid  no  Injuns  ;  no,  sar !  I 
don't  like  dem  folks." 

"  Now,  chil'en,  de  dogs  is  'sleep,"  said  Mammy,  yawning 
and  rubbing  her  eyes ;  "  go  ter  bed,  won't  yer?" 

And  the  little  girls,  after  laying  the  puppies  in  the  box 
wind  covering  them  with  an  old  shawl,  were  soon  fast 
asleep.  But  there  was  not  much  sleep  in  the  nursery 
that  night ;  the  ungrateful  little  dogs  howled  and  cried 
all  night.  Mammy  got  up  three  times  and  gave  them 
warm  milk,  and  tucked  them  up  in  the  shawl ;  but  no 
sooner  would  she  put  them  back  in  the  box  than  they 
would  begin  to  cry  and  howl.  And  so  at  the  breakfast- 
table  next  morning,  when  Dumps  asked  her  papa  to  tell 
her  something  to  name  her  puppy,  Diddie  gravely  re- 
marked, 

"  I  think,  Dumps,  we  had  better  name  *um  Cherubim  an* 
Seraphim,  for  they  continually  do  cry." 

And  her  papa  was  so  amused  at  the  idea  that  he  said 


28  Diddie>  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

he  thought  so  too ;  and  thus  the  puzzling  question  of  the 
names  was  decided,  and  the  little  woolly  poodles  were 
called  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  and  became  great  pets  in 
the  household. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CHRISTMAS    ON   THE    OLD   PLANTATION. 

CHRISTMAS  morning,  1853,  dawned  cold  and  rainy, 
and  scarcely  had  the  first  gray  streak  appeared  when 
the  bolt  of  the  nursery  was  quietly  turned,  and  Dilsey's 
little  black  head  peered  in  through  the  half-open  door. 

"  Chris'mus  gif ',  chil'en  !"  she  called  out,  and  in  a  twink- 
ling Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot  were  all  wide  awake,  and 
climbing  over  the  side  of  the  bed.  Then  the  three  little 
sisters  and  Dilsey  tip-toed  all  around  to  everybody's 
rooms,  catching  "  Chris'mus  gif';"  but  just  as  they  were 
creeping  down  stairs  to  papa  and  mamma  two  little  forms 
jumped  from  behind  the  hall  door,  and  Riar  and  Chris 
called  out,  "  Chris'mus  gif  !"  and  laughed  and  danced  to 
think  they  had  "  cotch  de  white  chil'en." 

As  soon  as  everybody  had  been  caught  they  all  went 
into  the  sitting-room  to  see  what  Santa  Claus  had  brought, 
and  there  were  eight  stockings  all  stuffed  full !  Three 
long,  white  stockings,  that  looked  as  if  they  might  be 
mamma's,  were  for  the  little  girls,  and  three  coarse  wool' 


30  Diddie,  Dumps%  and  Tot, 

!en  stockings  were  for  the  little  nigs;  and  now  whom  do 
you  suppose  the  others  were  for?  Why,  for  Mammy  and 
Aunt  Milly,  to  be  sure !  Oh,  such  lots  of  things — candies 
and  nuts,  and  raisins  and  fruits  in  every  stocking ;  then 
there  was  a  doll  baby  for  each  of  the  children.  Diddie's 
was  a  big  china  doll,  with  kid  feet  and  hands,  and  dressed 
in  a  red  frock  trimmed  with  black  velvet.  Dumps's  was 
a  wax  baby  with  eyes  that  would  open  and  shut ;  and  it 
had  on  a  long  white  dress,  just  like  a  sure-enough  baby, 
and  a  little  yellow  sack,  all  worked  around  with  white. 

Tot  was  so  little,  and  treated  her  dollies  so  badly,  that 
"  Old  Santa "  had  brought  her  an  India-rubber  baby, 
dressed  in  pink  tarlatan,  with  a  white  sash. 

Dilsey,  Chris,  and  Riar  each  had  an  alabaster  baby, 
dressed  in  white  Swiss,  and  they  were  all  just  alike,  except 
that  they  had  different  colored  sashes  on. 

And  Diddie  had  a  book  full  of  beautiful  stories,  and 
Dumps  had  a  slate  and  pencil,  and  Tot  had  a  "  Noah's 
ark,"  and  Mammy  and  Aunt  Milly  had  red  and  yellow 
head  "  handkerchiefs,"  and  Mammy  had  a  new  pair  of 
"  specs  "  and  a  nice  warm  hood,  and  Aunt  Milly  had  a 
delaine  dress ;  and  'way  down  in  the  toes  of  their  stock- 
ings they  each  found  a  five-dollar  gold  piece,  for  Old  Santa 
had  seen  how  patient  and  good  the  two  dear  old  women 
were  to  the  children,  and  so  he  had  "  thrown  in  "  these 
gold  pieces. 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  31 

How  the  little  folks  laughed  and  chatted  as  they  pulled 
the  things  out  of  their  stockings  !  But  pretty  soon  Mammy 
made  them  put  them  all  away,  to  get  ready  for  breakfast. 
After  breakfast  the  big  plantation  bell  was  rung,  and 
the  negroes  all  came  up  to  the  house.  And  then  a  great 
box  that  had  been  in  the  store-room  ever  since  the  wag- 
ons got  back  from  the  river,  three  weeks  before,  was 
brought  in  and  opened,  and  Mrs.  Waldron  took  from  it 
dresses  and  hats,  and  bonnets  and  coats,  and  vests  and  all 
sorts  of  things,  until  every  pair  of  black  hands  had  received 
a  present,  and  every  pair  of  thick  lips  exclaimed, 

"  Thankee,  mistis  !  thankee,  honey  ;  an'  God  bless  yer !" 
And  then  Chris,  who  had  been  looking  anxiously  every 
moment  or  two  towards  the  quarters,  cried  out, 
"Yon*  deyis!     I  see  um  !     Yon' dey  come !" 
And  down  the  long  avenue  appeared  the  funniest  sort 
of  a  procession.     First  came  Aunt  Nancy,  the  "  tender," 
with  her  head  handkerchief  tied  in  a  sharp  point  that 
stuck  straight  up  from  her  head ;  and  behind  her,  two  and 
two,  came  the  little  quarter  negroes,  dressed  in  their  bright- 
est and  newest  clothes.     All  were  there — from  the  boys 
and  girls  of  fourteen  down  to  the  little  wee  toddlers  of  two 
or  three,  and  some  even  younger  than  that ;  for  in  the 
arms  of  several  of  the  larger  girls  were  little  bits  of  black 
babies,  looking  all  around  in  their  queer  kind  of  way,  and 
wondering  what  all  this  was  about. 


32  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

The  procession  drew  up  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Did- 
die,  Dumps,  and  Tot  went  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other 
distributing  candies  and  apples,  and  oranges  and  toys ; 
and  how  the  bright  faces  did  light  up  with  joy  as  the  little 
darkies  laughed  and  chuckled,  and  I  dare  say  would  have 
jumped  up  and  clapped  their  hands  but  for  Aunt  Nancy, 
who  was  keeping  a  sharp  eye  upon  them,  and  who  would 
say,  as  every  present  was  delivered, 

"  Min'  yer  manners,  now  !" 

At  which  the  little  nigs  would  make  a  comical  little 
"  bob-down  "  courtesy  and  say,  "  Thankee,  marm." 

When  the  presents  were  all  delivered,  Major  Waldron 
told  the  negroes  that  their  mistress  and  himself  were  going 
to  the  quarters  to  take  presents  to  the  old  negroes  and  the 
sick,  who  could  not  walk  to  the  house,  and  that  after  that 
he  would  have  service  in  the  chapel,  and  that  he  hoped  as 
many  as  could  would  attend. 

Then  the  crowd  dispersed,  and  the  children's  mamma 
filled  a  basket  with  "  good  things,"  and  presents  for  old 
Aunt  Sally,  who  was  almost  blind  ;  and  poor  Jane,  who  had 
been  sick  a  long  time ;  and  Daddy  Jake,  the  oldest  negro 
on  the  place,  who  never  ventured  out  in  bad  weather  for 
fear  of  the  "  rheumatiz ;"  and  then,  accompanied  by  her 
husband  and  children,  she  carried  it  to  the  quarters  to 
wish  the  old  negroes  a  happy  Christmas. 

The  quarters  presented  a  scene  of  the  greatest  excite- 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  33 

ment.  Men  and  women  were  bustling  about,  in  and  out  of 
the  cabins,  and  the  young  folks  were  busily  engaged  clean- 
ing up  the  big  barn  and  dressing  it  with  boughs  of  holly 
and  cedar;  for  you  see  Aunt  Sukey's  Jim  was  going  to  be 
married  that  very  night,  and  the  event  had  been  talked 
of  for  weeks,  for  he  was  a  great  favorite  on  the  place. 

He  was  a  tall,  handsome  black  fellow,  with  white  teeth 
and  bright  eyes,  and  he  could  play  the  fiddle  and  pick  the 
banjo,  and  knock  the  bones  and  cut  the  pigeon-wing,  and, 
besides  all  that,  he  was  the  best  hoe-hand,  and  could  pick 
more  cotton  than  any  other  negro  on  the  plantation.  He 
had  amused  himself  by  courting  and  flirting  with  all  of 
the  negro  girls ;  but  at  last  he  had  been  caught  himself 
by  pretty  Candace,  one  of  the  house-maids,  and  a  merry 
dance  she  had  led  him. 

She  had  kept  poor  Jim  six  long  months  on  the  rack. 
First  she'd  say  she'd  marry  him,  and  then  she'd  say  she 
wouldn't  (not  that  she  ever  really  meant  that  she  wouldn't), 
for  she  just  wanted  to  torment  him  ;  and  she  succeeded  so 
well  that  Jim  became  utterly  wretched,  and  went  to  his 
master  to  know  "  ef 'n  he  couldn't  make  dat  yaller  gal 
'have  herse'f." 

But  his  master  assured  him  it  was  a  matter  that  he  had 
nothing  on  earth  to  do  with,  and  even  told  Jim  that  it  was 
but  fair  that  he,  who  had  enjoyed  flirting  so  long,  should 
now  be  flirted  with. 


34  Diddie>  Dumps>  and  Tot. 

However,  one  evening  his  mistress  came  upon  the  poor 
fellow  sitting  on  the  creek  bank  looking  very  disconsolate, 
and  overheard  him  talking  to  himself. 

"  Yes,  sar !"  he  was  saying,  as  if  arguing  with  somebody. 
"  Yes,  sar,  by  rights  dat  nigger  gal  oughter  be  beat  mos' 
ter  defif,  she  clean  bodder  de  life  out'n  me,  an'  marster,  he 
jes'  oughter  kill  dat  nigger.  I  dunno  w'at  makes  me  kyar 
so  much  er  bout'n  her  no  way ;  dar's  plenty  er  likelier  gals  'n 
her,  an'  I  jes'  b'lieve  dat's  er  trick  nigger ;  anyhow  she's 
tricked  me,  sho's  yer  born ;  an'  ef 'n  I  didn't  b'long  ter  no- 
body, I'd  jump  right  inter  dis  creek  an'  drown  myse'f.  But 
I  ain't  got  no  right  ter  be  killin'  up  marster's  niggers  dat 
way;  I'm  wuff  er  thousan'  dollars,  an'  marster  ain't  got  no 
thousan'  dollars  ter  was'e  in  dis  creek,  long  er  dat  lazy, 
shif'less,  good-fur-nuffin'  yaller  nigger." 

The  poor  fellow's  dejected  countenance  and  evident  dis- 
tress enlisted  the  sympathy  of  his  mistress,  and  thinking 
that  any  negro  who  took  such  good  care  of  his  master's 
property  would  make  a  good  husband,  she  sought  an  in- 
terview with  Candace,  and  so  pleaded  with  her  in  behalf 
of  poor  Jim  that  the  dusky  coquette  relented,  and  went 
down  herself  to  Aunt  Sukey's  cabin  to  tell  her  lover  that 
she  did  love  him  all  along,  and  was  "  jis'  er  projeckin'  wid 
'im,"  and  that  she  would  surely  marry  him  Christmas- 
night. 

Their  master  had  had  a  new  cabin  built  for  them,  and 


Diddie,  Diimps^  and  Tot.  35 

their  mistress  had  furnished  it  neatly  for  the  young  folks 
to  begin  housekeeping,  and  in  mamma's  wardrobe  was  a 
white  dress  and  a  veil  and  wreath  that  were  to  be  the 
bride's  Christmas  gifts.  They  were  to  be  married  in  the 
parlor  at  the  house,  and  dance  afterwards  in  the  barn,  and 
the  wedding  supper  was  to  be  set  in  the  laundry. 

So  you  see  it  was  a  busy  day,  with  so  much  of  cake- 
baking  and  icing  and  trimming  to  be  done ;  and  then  the 
girls  had  to  see  about  their  dresses  for  the  evening,  and 
the  young  men  had  their  shoes  to  black,  and  their  best 
clothes  to  brush,  and  their  hair  to  unwrap ;  but,  notwith- 
standing all  this,  when  Major  Waldron  and  his  family  en- 
tered the  chapel  they  found  a  large  congregation  assem- 
bled ;  indeed,  all  were  there  except  the  sick ;  and  master 
and  slaves,  the  white  children  and  black,  united  their  hearts 
and  voices  to 

"  Laud  and  magnify  His  holy  name," 

and  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  his  great  Christmas  gift 
of  a  Saviour  to  the  world. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  chapel  after  service,  Dumps 
drew  close  to  her  mother  and  whispered, 

"  Mamma,  bein'  as  this  is  Chris'mas,  an'  it's  rainin',  can't 
we  have  some  of  the  little  quarter  niggers  to  go  to  the 
house  and  play  Injuns  with  us?" 

Mamma  was  about  to  refuse,  for  the  little  girls  were  not 
allowed  to  play  with  the  quarter  children  ;  but  Dumps 


36  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

looked  very  wistful,  and,  besides,  Mammy  would  be  with 
them  in  the  nursery,  so  she  consented,  and  each  of  the 
children  were  told  that  they  might  select  one  of  the  little 
negroes  to  play  with  them. 

Diddie  took  a  little  mulatto  girl  named  Agnes.  Dumps 
had  so  many  favorites  that  it  was  hard  for  her  to  decide ; 
but  finally  she  selected  Frances,  a  lively  little  darky,  who 
could  dance  and  pat  and  sing  and  shout,  and  do  lots  of 
funny  things. 

Tot  took  Polly,  a  big  girl  of  fourteen,  who  could,  and 
sometimes  did,  take  the  little  one  on  her  back  and  trot 
around  with  her.  She  lifted  her  now  to  her  shoulders, 
and,  throwing  her  head  up  and  snorting  like  a  horse,  started 
off  in  a  canter  to  the  house ;  while  Diddie  and  Dumps,  and 
Chris  and  Riar,  and  Agnes  and  Frances  followed  on  be- 
hind, all  barking  like  dogs,  and  making  believe  that  Tot 
was  going  hunting  and  they  were  the  hounds. 

"  See,  Mammy,  here's  Agnes  and  Polly  and  Frances," 
said  Diddie,  as  they  entered  the  nursery ;  "  mamma  let  us 
have  them,  and  they  are  to  stay  here  a  long  time  and  play 
Injuns  with  us." 

"Now,  Miss  Diddie,  honey,"  said  Mammy,  "Injuns  is 
sich  a  sackremenchus  play,  an'  makes  so  much  litter  and 
fuss ;  git  yer  dolls,  an'  play  like  er  little  lady." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  interrupted  Dumps ;  "  we're  goin'  ter  play 
Injuns !     We're  goin'  ter  make  out  we're  travellin'  in  the 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  37 

big  rockin'-cheer,  goin'  ter  New  Orleans,  an'  the  little  nig- 
gers is  got  ter  be  Injuns,  hid  all  behin'  the  trunks  an'  beds 
an'  door ;  an'  after  we  rock  an'  rock  er  lo-o-ong  time,  then 
we're  goin'  ter  make  out  it's  night,  an'  stretch  mamma's 
big  shawl  over  two  cheers  an'  make  er  tent,  and  be  cookin' 
supper  in  our  little  pots  an'  kittles,  an'  the  little  niggers  is 
got  ter  holler,  '  Who-ee,  who-eee,'  an'  jump  out  on  us,  an' 
cut  off  our  heads  with  er  billycrow." 

"  How  silly  you  do  talk,  Dumps!"  said  Diddie:  "there 
ain't  any  Injuns  between  here  and  New  Orleans ;  we've 
got  ter  be  goin'  ter  California,  a  far  ways  f'um  here.  An'  I 
don't  b'lieve  there's  nothin'  in  this  world  named  er  ' billy- 
crow  /  it's  er  tommyhawk  you're  thinkin'  about :  an'  Injuns 
don't  cut  offpeople's  heads  ;  it  was  Henry  the  Eighth.  In- 
juns jes'  cut  off  the  hair  and  call  it  sculpin',  don't  they, 
Mammy?" 

"  Lor',  chile,"  replied  Mammy,  "  I  dunno,  honey ;  I  allers 
hyeard  dat  Injuns  wuz  monstrous  onstreperous,  an'  I 
wouldn't  play  no  sich  er  game." 

But  "Injuns,  Injuns,  Injuns!"  persisted  all  the  little 
folks,  and  Mammy  had  to  yield. 

The  big  chair  was  put  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
the  little  girls  got  in.  Chris  sat  up  on  the  arms  to  be  the 
driver,  and  they  started  off  for  California.  After  travel- 
ling some  time  night  set  in,  and  the  emigrants  got  out,  and 
pitched  a  tent  and  made  preparations  for  cooking  supper; 


38  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

little  bits  of  paper  were  torn  up  and  put  into  the  miniature 
pots  and  kettles,  and  the  children  were  busy  stirring  them 
round  with  a  stick  for  a  spoon,  when  the  terrible  war- 
whoop  rang  in  their  ears,  and  from  under  the  bed  and  be- 
hind the  furniture  jumped  out  the  five  little  negroes. 

The  travellers  ran  in  every  direction,  and  the  Injuns  after 
them.  Diddie  hid  in  the  wardrobe,  and  Mammy  covered 
Tot  up  in  the  middle  of  the  bed;  Chris  turned  the  chip- 
box  over  and  tried  to  get  under  it,  but  the  fierce  savages 
dragged  her  out,  and  she  was  soon  tied  hand  and  foot ; 
Dumps  jumped  into  the  clothes-basket,  and  Aunt  Milly 
threw  a  blanket  over  her,  but  Frances  had  such  keen  little 
eyes  that  she  soon  spied  her  and  captured  her  at  once. 

Then  a  wild  yell  was  sounded,  and  Polly  and  Dilsey 
pounced  upon  Tot,  who  had  become  tired  of  lying  still, 
and  was  wriggling  about  so  that  she  had  been  discovered  ; 
and  now  all  the  travellers  were  captured  except  Diddie. 
The  Injuns  looked  everywhere  for  her  in  vain. 

"  She  mus'  er  gone  up  fru  de  chimbly,  like  Marse  San- 
tion  Claws,"  said  Agnes ;  and  Diddie  thought  that  was  so 
funny  that  she  giggled  outright,  and  in  a  moment  the 
wardrobe  was  opened  and  she  was  also  taken  prisoner. 
Then  the  four  little  captives  were  laid  on  their  backs,  and 
Polly  scalped  them  with  a  clothes-brush  for  a  tomahawk. 

As  soon  as  they  were  all  scalped  they  started  over  again, 
and  kept  up  the  fun  until  the  big  plantation  bell  sounded, 


PLAYING  "  INJUNS." 


Diddie,  Dumps,  a,7id  Tot.  41 

and  then  the  Injuns  deserted  in  a  body  and  ran  off  pell- 
mell  to  the  quarters ;  for  that  bell  was  for  the  Christmas 
dinner,  and  they  wouldn't  miss  that  for  all  the  scalps  that 
ever  were  taken. 

There  were  three  long  tables,  supplied  with  good,  well- 
cooked  food,  followed  by  a  nice  dessert  of  pudding  and 
cake,  and  the  darkies,  one  and  all,  did  full  justice  to  it. 

Up  at  the  house  was  a  grand  dinner,  with  turkey,  mince- 
pie,  and  plum-pudding,  of  course. 

When  that  was  through  with,  mamma  told  the  little 
girls  that  the  little  quarter  negroes  were  to  have  a  candy 
stew,  and  that  Mammy  might  take  them  to  witness  the 
pulling.  This  was  a  great  treat,  for  there  was  nothing  the 
children  enjoyed  so  much  as  going  to  the  quarters  to  see 
the  little  negroes  play. 

The  candy  stew  had  been  suggested  by  Aunt  Nancy  as 
a  fine  device  for  getting  rid  of  the  little  darkies  for  the 
night.  They  were  to  have  the  frolic  only  on  condition 
that  they  would  go  to  bed  and  not  insist  on  being  at  the 
wedding.  This  they  readily  agreed  to ;  for  they  feared 
they  would  not  be  allowed  to  sit  up  any  way,  and  they 
thought  best  to  make  sure  of  the  candy-pulling. 

When  the  little  girls  reached  Aunt  Nancy's  cabin,  two 
big  kettles  of  molasses  were  on  the  fire,  and,  to  judge  by 
the  sputtering  and  simmering,  the  candy  was  getting  on 
famously.     Uncle  Sambo  had  brought  his  fiddle  in,  and 


42  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot 

some  of  the  children  were  patting  and  singing  and  danc- 
ing, while  others  were  shelling  goobers  and  picking  out 
scaly-barks  to  put  in  the  candy ;  and  when  the  pulling  be- 
gan, if  you  could  have  heard  the  laughing  and  joking  you 
would  have  thought  there  was  no  fun  like  a  candy  stew. 

As  a  special  favor,  the  little  girls  were  allowed  to  stay 
up  and  see  Candace  married  ;  and  very  nice  she  looked 
when  her  mistress  had  finished  dressing  her:  her  white 
Swiss  was  fresh  and  new,  and  the  wreath  and  veil  were 
very  becoming,  and  she  made  quite  a  pretty  bride ;  at 
least  Jim  thought  so,  and  that  was  enough  for  her. 

Jim  was  dressed  in  a  new  pepper-and-salt  suit,  his  Christ- 
mas present  from  his  master,  and  the  bridesmaids  and 
groomsmen  all  looked  very  fine.  Mamma  arranged  the 
bridal  party  in  the  back  parlor,  and  the  folding-doors  were 
thrown  open.  Both  rooms  and  the  large  hall  were  full  of 
negroes.  The  ceremony  was  performed  by  old  Uncle 
Daniel,  the  negro  preacher  on  the  place,  and  the  children's 
father  gave  the  bride  away. 

After  the  marriage,  the  darkies  adjourned  to  the  barn 
to  dance.  Diddie  and  Dumps  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go 
and  look  at  them  "just  a  little  while,"  but  it  was  their 
bedtime,  and  Mammy  marched  them  off  to  the  nursery. 

About  twelve  o'clock  supper  was  announced,  and  old 
and  young  repaired  to  the  laundry.  The  room  was  fes- 
tooned with  wreaths  of  holly  and  cedar,  and  very  bright 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot  43 

and  pretty  and  tempting  the  table  looked,  spread  out 
with  meats  and  breads,  and  pickles  and  preserves,  and 
home-made  wine,  and  cakes  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  iced  and 
plain ;  large  bowls  of  custard  and  jelly ;  and  candies,  and 
fruits  and  nuts. 

In  the  centre  of  the  table  was  a  pyramid,  beginning 
with  a  large  cake  at  the  bottom  and  ending  with  a  "  snow- 
ball "  on  top. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  was  the  bride-cake,  contain- 
ing the  "ring"  and  the  "dime;"  it  was  handsomely  iced, 
and  had  a  candy  Cupid  perched  over  it,  on  a  holly  bough 
which  was  stuck  in  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  cake.  It 
was  to  be  cut  after  a  while  by  each  of  the  bridesmaids  and 
groomsmen  in  turns ;  and  whoever  should  cut  the  slice 
containing  the  ring  would  be  the  next  one  to  get  married  ; 
but  whoever  should  get  the  dime  was  to  be  an  old  maid 
or  an  old  bachelor. 

The  supper  was  enjoyed  hugely,  particularly  a  big  bowl 
of  eggnog,  which  so  enlivened  them  all  that  the  dancing 
was  entered  into  with  renewed  vigor,  and  kept  up  till  the 
gray  tints  in  the  east  warned  them  that  another  day  had 
dawned,  and  that  Christmas  was  over. 

But  you  may  be  sure  that  in  all  Christendom  it  had 
been  welcomed  in  and  ushered  out  by  no  merrier,  lighter 
hearts  than  those  of  the  happy,  contented  folks  on  the  old 
plantation. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MAMMY'S    STORY. 

ONE  cold,  rainy  night  a  little  group  were  assembled 
around  a  crackling  wood  fire  in  the  nursery ;  Mam- 
my was  seated  in  a  low  chair,  with  Tot  in  her  arms ; 
Dumps  was  rocking  her  doll  back  and  forth,  and  Diddie 
was  sitting  at  the  table  reading ;  Aunt  Milly  was  knitting, 
and  the  three  little  darkies  were  nodding  by  the  fire. 

"Mammy,"  said  Dumps,  " s'posin'  you  tell  us  a  tale." 
Tot  warmly  seconded  the  motion,  and  Mammy,  who  was 
never  more  delighted  than  when  astonishing  the  children 
with  her  wonderful  stories,  at  once  assumed  a  meditative 
air.  "  Lem  me  see,"  said  the  old  woman,  scratching  her 
head ;  "  I  reckon  I'll  tell  yer  'bout  de  wushin'-stone ,  ain't 
neber  told  yer  dat  yit.  I  know  yer've  maybe  hearn  on  it, 
leastways  Milly  has ;  but  den  she  mayn't  have  hearn  de 
straight  on  it,  fur  'taint  eb'y  nigger  knows  it.  Yer  see, 
Milly,  my  mammy  was  er  'riginal  Guinea  nigger,  an'  she 
knowed  'bout  de  wushin'-stone  herse'f,  an'  she  told  me  one 
Wednesday  night  on  de  full  er  de  moon,  an'  w'at  I'm 
gwine  ter  tell  yer  is  de  truf*"" 


Diddie,  Dumps,  a,7id  Tot.  45 

Having  thus  authenticated  her  story  beyond  a  doubt, 
Mammy  hugged  Tot  a  little  closer  and  began : 

"  Once  'pon  er  time  dar  wuz  a  beautiful  gyarden  wid  all 
kind  er  nice  blossoms,  an'  trees,  an'  brooks,  an'  things, 
whar  all  de  little  chil'en  usen  ter  go  and  play,  an'  in  dis 
gyarden  de  grass  wuz  allers  green,  de  blossoms  allers 
bright,  and  de  streams  allers  clar,  caze  hit  b'longed  to  er 
little  Fraid,  named  Cheery." 

"  A  « little  Fraid,'  "  interrupted  Diddie,  contemptuously. 
I  Why,  Mammy,  there's  no  such  a  thing  as  a  <  Fraid.'  " 

"Lord,  Miss  Diddie,  'deed  dey  is,"  said  Dilsey,  with  her 
round  eyes  stretched  to  their  utmost ;  "  I  done  seed  'em 
myse'f,  an'  our  Club-foot  Bill  he  was  er  gwine  'long  one 
time—" 

"  Look  er  hyear,yer  kinky-head  nigger,  whar's  yer  man- 
ners?" asked  Mammy,  "  'ruptin  uv  eld'ly  pussons.  "I'm 
de  one  w'at's  'struck'n  dese  chil'en,  done  strucked  dey 
mother  fuss ;  I'll  tell  'em  w'at's  becomin'  fur  'em  ter  know ; 
I  don't  want  'em  ter  hyear  nuf'n  'bout  sich  low  cornfiel' 
niggers  ez  Club-foot  Bill. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Diddie,  honey,"  said  Mammy,  resuming  her 
story,  "  dar  sholy  is  Fraids ;  Mammy  ain't  gwine  tell  yer 
nuf'n',  honey,  w'at  she  dun  know  fur  er  fack;  so  as  I  wuz 
er  sayin',  dis  little  Fraid  wuz  name  Cheery,  an'  she'd  go  all 
'roun'  eb'y  mornin'  an*  tech  up  de  grass  an'  blossoms  an' 
keep  'em  fresh,  fur  she  loved  ter  see  chil'en  happy,  an' 


46  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

w'en  dey  rolled  ober  on  de  grass,  an'  strung  de  blossoms, 
an'  waded  up  an'  down  de  streams,  an'  peeped  roun'  de 
trees,  Cheery  'd  clap  'er  han's  an'  laugh,  an'  dance  roun'  an' 
roun';  an'  sometimes  dar  'd  be  little  po'  white  chil'en,  an' 
little  misfortnit  niggers  would  go  dar;  an' w'en  she'd  see 
de  bright  look  in  dey  tired  eyes,  she'd  fix  things  prettier  'n 
eber. 

"  Now  dar  wuz  er  nudder  little  Fraid  name  Dreary ;  ar«' 
she  wuz  sad  an'  gloomy,  an'  nebber  dance,  nor  play,  nor 
nuf 'n ;  but  would  jes  go  off  poutin'  like  to  herse'f.  Well, 
one  day  she  seed  er  big  flat  stone  under  a  tree.  She  sair] 
ter  herse'f, '  I  ain't  gwine  ter  be  like  dat  foolish  Cheery, 
dancin'  an'  laughin'  foreber,  caze  she  thinks  sich  things 
ez  flowers  an'  grass  kin  make  folks  happy ;  but  I'm  gwine 
ter  do  er  rael  good  ter  eb'ybody ;'  so  she  laid  er  spell  on 
de  stone,  so  dat  w'en  anybody  sot  on  de  stone  an'  wush 
anything  dey'd  hab  jes  w'at  dey  wush  fur ;  an'  so  as  ter  let 
er  heap  er  folks  wush  at  once,  she  made  it  so  dat  eb'y  wush 
would  make  de  stone  twice  ez  big  ez  'twuz  befo'. 

"  Po'  little  Cheery  was  mighty  troubled  in  her  min'  w'en 
she  foun'  out  bout'n  hit,  an'  she  beg  Dreary  ter  tuck  de 
spell  off;  but  no,  she  wouldn't  do  it.  She  'lowed,  do,  ef 
anybody  should  eber  wush  anything  fur  anybody  else,  dat 
den  de  stone  might  shrink  up  ergin ;  fur  who,  she  sez  ter 
herse'f,  is  gwine  ter  wush  fur  things  fur  tudder  folks  ?  An' 
she  tol'  de  little  birds  dat  stay  in  de  tree  de  stone  wuz 


Diddie,  Dumps ;  and  Tot.  47 

under,  when  anybody  sot  on  de  stone  dey  mus'  sing, '  I 
wush  I  had,'  an'  '  I  wush  I  wuz,'  so  as  ter  min  'em  bout'n  de 
wushin'-stone.  Well,  'twan't  long  fo'  de  gyarden  wuz  plum 
crowded  wid  folks  come  ter  wush  on  de  stone,  an'  hit  wuz 
er  growin'  bigger  an'  bigger  all  de  time,  an'  mashin'  de 
blossoms  an'  grass ;  an'  dar  wan't  no  mo'  merry  chil'en 
playin'  'mong  de  trees  an'  wadin'  in  de  streams ;  no  soun's 
ob  laughin'  and  joy  in  de  gyarden ;  eb'ybody  wuz  er 
quarlin'  bout'n  who  should  hab  de  nex'  place,  or  wuz  tryin' 
ter  study  up  what  dey'd  wush  fur ;  an'  Cheery  wuz  jes  ez 
mizer'bul  as  er  free  nigger,  'bout  her  gyarden. 

"  De  folks  would  set  on  de  stone,  while  de  little  birds 
would  sing, '  I  wush  I  had  ;'  an'  dey'd  wush  dey  had  money, 
an'  fren's,  an'  sense,  an'  happiness,  an'  'ligion ;  an'  'twould 
all  come  true  jes  like  dey  wush  fur.  Den  de  little  birds 
would  sing, '  I  wush  I  wuz  ;'  an'  dey'd  wush  dey  wuz  lubly, 
an'  good,  an'  gran' ;  un'  'twould  all  come  ter  pass  jes  so. 

"  But  all  dat  time  nobody  neber  wush  nobody  else  was 
rich,  an'  good,  an'  lubly,  an'  happy ;  fur  don't  yer  see  de 
birds  neber  sung, '  I  wush  you  wuz,' '  I  wush  dey  had  ;'  but 
all  de  time  '  I  wush  /  wuz,'  "  I  wush  I  had.'  At  last,  one 
day  dar  come  inter  de  gyarden  er  po'  little  cripple  gal, 
who  lived  'way  off  in  er  ole  tumble-down  house.  She  wuz 
er  little  po'  white  chile,  an'  she  didn't  hab  no  farder  nor 
mudder,  nor  niggers  ter  do  fur  her,  an'  she  had  to  do  all 

her  own  wuck  herse'f." 

4 


48  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Bress  de  Lord !"  ejaculated  Aunt  Milly,  who  was  be- 
coming very  much  interested  in  the  story,  while  tears 
gathered  in  Dumps's  blue  eyes;  and  even  Diddie  was 
seen  to  wink  a  little  at  the  forlorn  condition  of  "  de  po' 
white  chile." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  continued  Mammy,  "  she  done  all  her 
own  wuk  herse'f,  an'  nobody  ter  say  er  blessed  word  ter 
her,  nor  he'p  her  a  bit ;  an'  she  neber  eben  hyeard  ob  de 
wushin'-stone,  but  had  jes  come  out  fur  er  little  while  ter 
enjoy  de  birds,  an'  de  fresh  air,  an'  flowers,  same  as  de 
quality  folks ;  fur  she  was  mos'  all  de  time  sick,  an'  dis 
wuz  jes  de  same  as  Christmus  ter  her.  She  hobbled  er- 
long  on  her  crutchers,an'  atter  while  she  got  ter  de  stone; 
an;  hit  so  happened  dar  wan't  nobody  dar,  so  she  sot  down 
ter  res'.  Well,  mun,  che  hadn't  mo'n  totch  de  stone  when 
de  little  birds  began, '  I  wush  I  had,'  '  I  wush  I  wuz.' 

"'Oh,  what  er  sweet,  pretty  place  !'  de  little  gal  said; 
an'  what  nice  little  birds!  I  wush-dat  po'  ole  sick  man 
what  libs  next  ter  us  could  come  out  here  and  see  it  all.' 

"  '  I  wush  I  had,'  '  I  wush  I  wuz,'  sung  de  little  birds.  '  I 
wush  all  de  po'  chil'en  could  come  an'  spen'  de  day  here,' 
said  de  little  gal ;  '  what  er  nice  time  dey  would  hab  !' 

"  i  I  wush  I  wuz,' '  I  wush  I  had,'  sung  de  birds  in  er  flut- 
ter, hoppin'  all  'bout  'mong  de  branches. 

" '  An'  all  de  lame  people,  an'  sick  people,  an'  ole  peo- 
ple,' said  de  little  gal,  '  I  wush  dey  could  all  git  well,  an 


Diddle,  Dumps*  and  Tot.  49 

strong,  an'  lib  in  er  beautiful  place  jes  like  dis,  an'  all  be 
happy.' 

"Oh;  de  little  birds!  what  er  bustle  dey  wuz  in,  to  be 
sho' !  IVy  sot  upon  de  bery  topes'  branches.  ai\'  dey  sung 
like  de)'  il  split  dey  troats, 

"  '  I  wush  /  had,' '  I  wush  I  wuz.' 

'-  But  de  little  gal  neber  min'  'em.  She  was  rested,  an' 
hobbled  an  all  by  herse'f .  but  now,  sence  she  done  wush 
fur  blessin's  fur  tudder  folks,  de  spell  was  loosen',  an'  de 
stone  all  drawed  up  £er  a  little  bit  er  stone,  den  sunk  away 
in  de  groun'  dar  out  o'  sight.  An'  dat  wuz  de  last  ob  de 
wushin'-stone." 

"  Dar  now  !'"  exclaimed  Aunt  Milly. 

"  De  truff,  sho'  I  jes  like  I  ben  tellin'  yer,"  said  Mammy. 

"  But,  Mammy,  what  about  the  little  girl?  did  she  evci 
get  well  an'  strong,  an'  not  be  lame  any  more?'  asked 
Dumps. 

"Well,  honey,  yer  sec  de  Lord,  he  fixes  all  dat.  He 
son't  fur  her  one  night,  an'  she  jes  smiled,  bright  an'  happy 
like,  an'  laid  right  back  in  de  angel's  arms ;  an'  he  tuck 
her  right  along  up  thu  de  hebenly  gates,  an'  soon  as  eber 
he  sot  her  down,  an'  her  foot  totch  dem  golden  streets,  de 
lameness,  an'  sickness,  an'  po'ness  all  come  right ;  an*  her 
fader,  an'  her  mudder,  an'  her  niggers  wuz  all  dar,  an'  she 
wuz  well  an'  strong,  an'  good  an'  happy.  Jes'  like  she 
wush  fur  de  po'  folks,  an'  de  sick  folks,  de  Lord  he  fixed 
it  jes  dat  way  fur  her.     He  fixed  all  dat  hisse'/." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

OLD  BILLY. 

THE  gin-house  on  the  plantation  was  some  distance 
from  the  house,  and  in  an  opposite  direction  from 
the  quarters.  It  was  out  in  an  open  field,  but  a  narrow 
strip  of  woods  lay  between  the  field  and  the  house,  so  the 
gin-house  was  completely  hidden. 

Just  back  of  the  gin-house  was  a  pile  of  lumber  that 
Major  Waldron  had  had  hauled  to  build  a  new  pick-room, 
and  which  was  piled  so  as  to  form  little  squares,  large 
enough  to  hold  three  of  the  children  at  once.  During  the 
last  ginning  season  they  had  gone  down  once  with  Mam- 
my to  "  ride  on  the  gin,"  but  had  soon  abandoned  that 
amusement  to  play  housekeeping  on  the  lumber,  and  have 
the  little  squares  for  rooms.  They  had  often  since  thought 
of  that  evening,  and  had  repeatedly  begged  Mammy  to 
let  them  go  down  to  the  lumber  pile ;  but  she  was  afraid 
they  would  tear  their  clothes,  or  hurt  themselves  in  some 
way,  and  would  never  consent. 

So  one  day  in  the  early  spring,  when  Mammy  and  Aunt 
Milly  were  having  a  great  cleaning-up  in  the  nursery  and 


Diddle^  Dumps  ^  and  Tot,  51 

the  children  had  been  sent  into  the  yard  to  play,  Chris 
suggested  that  they  should  all  slip  off,  and  go  and  play  on 
the  lumber  pile. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Dumps,  "  that  will  be  the  very  thing,  an' 
Mammy  won't  never  know  it,  'cause  we'll  be  sho'  ter  come 
back  befo'  snack-time." 

"  But  something  might  happen  to  us,  you  know,"  said 
Diddie, "  like  the  boy  in  my  blue  book,  who  went  off  fishin' 
when  his  mother  told  him  not  to,  an'  the  boat  upsetted 
and  drownded  him." 

"  Tain't  no  boat  there,"  urged  Dumps ;  "  tain't  no  wa- 
ter even,  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  we'd  be  drownded ;  an'  ta  i't 
no  bears  roun'  this  place  like  them  that  eat  up  the  bad 
little  chil'en  in  the  Bible;  and  tain't  no  Injuns  in  this 
country,  an'  tain't  no  snakes  nor  lizards  till  summer-time, 
an'  all  the  cows  is  out  in  the  pasture ;  an'  tain't  no  ghos'es 
in  the  daytime,  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  there's  nothin'  ter  hap- 
pen to  us ;  an'  ef  there  wuz,  I  reckon  God  kin  take  care  of 
us,  can't  he?" 

"He  won't  do  it,  though,  ef  we  don't  mind  our  mother," 
replied  Diddie. 

"  Mammy  ain't  none  of  our  mother,  and  tain't  none  of 
her  business  not  to  be  lettin'  us  play  on  the  lumber,  nd- 
ther.  Please  come,  Diddie,  we'll  have  such  a  fun,  an' 
nothin'  can't  hurt  us.  If  you'll  come,  we'll  let  you  keep 
the  hotel,  an'  me  an'  Tot  '11  be  the  boarders." 


52  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

The  idea  of  keeping  the  hotel  was  too  much  for  Diddie's 
scruples,  and  she  readily  agreed  to  the  plan.  Dilsey  was 
then  despatched  to  the  nursery  to  bring  the  dolls,  and  Chris 
ran  off  to  the  wood-pile  to  get  the  wheelbarrow,  which 
was  to  be  the  omnibus  for  carrying  passengers  to  and 
from  the  hotel. 

These  details  being  satisfactorily  arranged,  the  next 
thing  was  to  slip  off  from  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  for 
they  followed  the  little  girls  everywhere,  and  they  would 
be  too  much  trouble  on  this  occasion,  since  they  couldn't 
climb  up  on  the  pile  themselves,  and  would  whine  pite- 
ously  if  the  children  left  them. 

The  plan  finally  decided  upon  was  this :  Diddie  was  to 
coax  them  to  the  kitchen  to  get  some  meat,  while  the 
other  children  were  to  go  as  fast  as  they  could  down  the 
avenue  and  wait  for  her  where  the  road  turned,  and  she 
was  to  slip  off  while  the  puppies  were  eating,  and  join 
them. 

They  had  only  waited  a  few  minutes  when  Diddie 
came  running  down  the  road,  and  behind  her  (unknown 
to  her)  came  Old  Billy. 

"Oh,  what  made  you  bring  him?"  asked  Dumps,  as 
Diddie  came  up. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  comin',"  replied  Diddie,  "  but 
he  won't  hurt :  he'll  just  eat  grass  all  about,  and  we  needn't 
notice  him." 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  53 

"  Yes,  he  will  hurt,"  said  Dumps ;  "  he  behaves  jus' 
dreadful,  an'  I  don't  want  ter  go,  neither,  ef  he's  got  ter 
be  er  cominY' 

"  Well — I  know  he  shall  come,"  retorted  Diddie.  "  You 
jes  don't  like  him  'cause  he's  gettin'  old.  I'd  be  ashamed 
to  turn  against  my  friends  like  that.  When  he  was  little 
and  white,  you  always  wanted  to  be  er  playin'  with  him ; 
an'  now,  jes  'cause  he  ain't  pretty,  you  don't  want  him 
to  come  anywhere,  nor  have  no  fun  nor  nothin' ;  yes — he 
shall  come ;  an'  ef  that's  the  way  you're  goin*  to  do,  I'm 
goin'  right  back  to  the  house,  an'  tell  Mammy  you've  all 
slipped  off,  an'  she'll  come  right  after  you,  an'  then  you 
won't  get  to  play  on  the  lumber." 

Diddie  having  taken  this  decided  stand,  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  let  Old  Billy  be  of  the  party ;  and  peace 
being  thus  restored,  the  children  continued  their  way,  and 
were  soon  on  the  lumber-pile.  Diddie  at  once  opened 
her  hotel.  Chris  was  the  chambermaid,  Riar  was  the 
waiter,  and  Dilsey  was  the  man  to  take  the  omnibus  down 
for  the  passengers.  Dumps  and  Tot,  who  were  to  be  the 
boarders,  withdrew  to  the  gin-house  steps,  which  was  to 
be  the  depot,  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  omnibus. 

"  I  want  ter  go  to  the  hotel,"  said  Dumps,  as  Dilsey 
came  up  rolling  the  wheelbarrow — "  me  an'  my  three  lit- 
tle chil'en." 

"Yes,  marm,  jes  git  in,"  said  Dilsey,  and  Dumps,  with 


54  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

her  wax  baby  and  a  rag  doll  for  her  little  daughters,  and 
a  large  cotton-stalk  for  her  little  boy,  took  a  seat  in  the 
omnibus.  Dilsey  wheeled  her  up  to  the  hotel,  and  Diddie 
met  her  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  your  name,  madam  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  My  name  is  Mrs.  Dumps,"  replied  the  guest,  "an'  this 
is  my  little  boy,  an'  these  is  my  little  girls." 

"  Oh,  Dumps,  you  play  so  cur'us,"  said  Diddie ;  "  who 
ever  heard  of  anybody  bein'  named  Mrs.  Dumps?  there 
ain't  no  name  like  that." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  nothin'  else,"  said  Dumps ;  "  I 
couldn't  think  of  nothin'." 

"  Sposin'  you  be  named  Mrs.  Washington,  after  General 
Washington?"  said  Diddie,  who  was  now  studying  a  child's 
history  of  America,  and  was  very  much  interested  in  it. 

"  All  right,"  said  Dumps ;  and  Mrs.  Washington,  with 
her  son  and  daughters,  was  assigned  apartments,  and 
Chris  was  sent  up  with  refreshments,  composed  of  pieces 
of  old  cotton-bolls  and  gray  moss,  served  on  bits  of  broken 
china. 

The  omnibus  now  returned  with  Tot  and  her  family, 
consisting  of  an  India-rubber  baby  with  a  very  cracked 
face,  and  a  rag  body  that  had  once  sported  a  china  head, 
and  now  had  no  head  of  any  kind ;  but  it  was  nicely 
dressed,  and  there  were  red  shoes  on  the  feet,  and  it  an- 
swered Tot's  purpose  very  well. 


Diddie^  Dumps \  and  Tot.  55 

"  Dese  my  'itty  dirls,"  said  Tot,  as  Diddie  received  her, 
"an'  I  tome  in  de  bumberbuss." 

"  What  is  your  name?"  asked  Diddie. 

"I  name — I  name — I  name — Miss  Ginhouse,"  said  Tot, 
who  had  evidently  never  thought  of  a  name,  and  had  sudden- 
ly decided  upon  gin-house,  as  her  eye  fell  upon  that  object. 

"  No,  no,  Tot,  that's  a  thing ;  that  ain't  no  name  for 
folks,"  said  Diddie.  "  Let's  play  you're  Mrs.  Bunker 
Hill,  that's  a  nice  name." 

"  Yes,  I  name  Miss  Unker  Bill,"  said  the  gentle  little 
girl,  who  rarely  objected  to  playing  just  as  the  others 
wished.  Miss  "  Unker  Bill "  was  shown  to  her  room;  and 
now  Riar  came  out,  shaking  her  hand  up  and  down,  and 
saying,  "  Ting-er-ling — ting-er-ling — ting-er-ling!"  That 
was  the  dinner-bell,  and  they  all  assembled  around  a  ta- 
ble that  Riar  had  improvised  out  of  a  piece  of  plank  sup- 
ported on  two  bricks,  and  which  was  temptingly  set  out 
with  mud  pies  and  cakes  and  green  leaves,  and  just  such 
delicacies  as  Riar  and  Diddie  could  pick  up. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Washington  laid  eyes  on  the  mud  cakes 
and  pies,  she  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  Diddie,  I'm  er  goin'  ter  be  the  cook,  an'  make  the 
pies  an'  things." 

"  I  doin'  ter  be  de  took  an'  make  de  itty  mud  takes,"  said 
Miss  Unker  Bill,  and  the  table  at  once  became  a  scene  of 
confusion,. 


56  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  No,  Dumps,"  said  Diddie,  "  somebody's  got  to  be  stop* 
pin'  at  the  hotel,  an'  I  think  the  niggers  ought  to  be  the 
cooks." 

"  But  I  want  ter  make  the  mud  cakes,"  persisted  Dumps, 
an'  Tot  can  be  the  folks  at  the  hotel — she  and  the  doll- 
babies." 

"  No,  I  doin'  ter  make  de  mud  takes,  too,"  said  Tot, 
and  the  hotel  seemed  in  imminent  danger  of  being  closed 
for  want  of  custom,  when  a  happy  thought  struck  Dilsey. 

"  Lor-dy,  chil'en  !  I  tell  yer :  le's  play  Ole  Billy  is  er  gem- 
man  what  writ  ter  Miss  Diddie  in  er  letter  dat  he  was 
er  comin'  ter  de  hotel,  an'  ter  git  ready  fur  'im  gins  he 
come." 

"  Yes,"  said  Diddie,  and  lets  play  Dumps  an'  Tot  was 
two  mo'  niggers  I  had  ter  bring  up  from  the  quarters  to 
help  cook ;  an'  we'll  make  out  Ole  Billy  is  some  great 
general  or  someth'.i',  an'  we'll  have  ter  make  lots  of  cakes 
an'  puddin's  for  'im.  Oh,  I  know ;  we'll  play  he's  Lord 
Burgoyne." 

All  of  the  little  folks  were  pleased  at  that  idea,  and 
Diddie  immediately  began  to  issue  her  orders. 

"You,  Dumps,  an'  Tot  an'  Dilsey,  an'  all  of  yer- — I've 
got  er  letter  from  Lord  Burgoyne,  an'  he'll  be  here 
to-morrow,  an'  I  want  you  all  to  go  right  into  the  kitclv 
en  an'  make  pies  an'  cakes."  And  so  the  whole  party  ad- 
journed to  a  little  ditch  where  mud  and  water  were  plen* 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  57 

tiful  (and  which  on  that  account  had  been  selected  as 
the  kitchen),  and  began  at  once  to  prepare  an  elegant 
dinner. 

Dear  me !  how  busy  the  little  housekeepers  were !  and 
such  beautiful  pies  they  made,  and  lovely  cakes  all  iced 
with  white  sand,  and  bits  of  grass  laid  around  the  edges 
for  trimming !  and  all  the  time  laughing  and  chatting  as 
gayly  as  could  be. 

"  Ain't  we  havin'  fun  ?"  said  Dumps,  who,  regardless  of 
her  nice  clothes,  was  down  on  her  knees  in  the  ditch,  with 
her  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  her  fat  little  arms  muddy  to  the 
elbows;  "an'  ain't  you  glad  we  slipped  off,  Diddie?  I 
tol'  yer  there  wan't  nothin'  goin'  to  hurt  us." 

"  And  ain't  you  glad  we  let  Billy  come  ?"  said  Diddie ; 
"  we  wouldn't  er  had  nobody  to  be  Lord  Burgoyne." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dumps ;  "  an'  he  ain't  behaved  bad  at 
all ;  he  ain't  butted  nobody,  an'  he  ain't  runned  after  no- 
body to-day." 

"  'Ook  at  de  take,"  interrupted  Tot,  holding  up  a  mud- 
ball  that  she  had  moulded  with  her  own  little  hands,  and 
which  she  regarded  with  great  pride. 

And  now,  the  plank  being  as  full  as  it  would  hold,  they 
all  returned  to  the  hotel  to  arrange  the  table.  But  after 
the  table  was  set  the  excitement  was  all  over,  for  there 
was  nobody  to  be  the  guest. 

"  Ef  Ole  Billy  wan't  so  mean,"  said  Chris,  "  we  could 


^g  Biddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

fotch  'im  hyear  in  de  omnibus.     I  wush  we'd  a  let  Chub- 
bum  an'  Suppum  come;  dey'd  er  been  Lord  Bugom" 

« I  b'lieve  Billy  would  let  us  haul  'im,"  said  Diddle, 
who  was  always  ready  to  take  up  for  her  pet ;  "  he's  rael 
gentle  now,  an'  he's  quit  buttin';  the  only  thing  is,  hes 
so  big  we  couldn't  get  'im  in  the  wheelbarrer." 

-Me  'n  Chris  kin  put  'im  in,"  said  Dilsey.  "We  km 
lif  'im,  ef  dat's  all ;"  and  accordingly  the  omnibus  was  dis- 
patched for  Lord  Burgoyne,  who  was  quietly  nibbling 
grass  on  the  ditch  bank  at  some  little  distance  from  the 

hotel.  , 

He  raised  his  head  as  the  children  approached,  and  re- 
garded them  attentively.  "Billy!  Billy!  po'  Ole  Billy V 
soothingly  murmured  Diddie,  who  had  accompanied  Dil- 
sey and  Chris  with  the  omnibus,  as  she  had  more  influ- 
ence over  Old  Billy  than  anybody  else.  He  came  now  at 
once  to  her  side,  and  rubbed  his  head  gently  against  her; 
and  while  she  caressed  him,  Dilsey  on  one  side  and  Chris 
on  the  other  lifted  him  up  to  put  him  on  the  wheelbar- 


row. 


And  now  the  scene  changed.  Lord  Burgoyne,  all  un- 
mindful of  love  or  gratitude,  and  with  an  eye  single  to 
avenging  this  insult  to  his  dignity,  struggled  from  the 
arms  of  his  captors,  and,  planting  his  head  full  in  D id- 
die's  chest,  turned  her  a  somersault  in  the  mud.  Then, 
lowering  his  head  and  rushing  at  Chris,  he  butted  he* 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  61 

with  such  force  that  over  she  went  headforemost  into  the 
ditch !  and  now,  spying  Dilsey,  who  was  running  with  all 
her  might  to  gain  the  lumber-pile,  he  took  after  her,  and 
catching  up  with  her  just  as  she  reached  the  gin-house, 
placed  his  head  in  the  middle  of  her  back,  and  sent  her 
sprawling  on  her  face.  Diddie  and  Chris  had  by  this 
time  regained  their  feet,  both  of  them  very  muddy,  and 
Chris  with  her  face  all  scratched  from  the  roots  and  bri- 
ers in  the  ditch.  Seeing  Old  Billy  occupied  with  Dilsey, 
they  started  in  a  run  for  the  lumber;  but  the  wily  old 
sheep  was  on  the  look-out,  and,  taking  after  them  full  tilt, 
he  soon  landed  them  flat  on  the  ground.  And  now  Dil- 
sey had  scrambled  up,  and  was  wiping  the  dirt  from  her 
eyes,  preparatory  to  making  a  fresh  start.  Billy,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind  that  nobody  had 
a  right  to  stand  up  except  himself,  and,  before  the  poor 
little  darky  could  get  out  of  his.  way,  once  more  he  had 
butted  her  down. 

Diddie  and  Chris  were  more  fortunate  this  time ;  they 
were  nearer  the  lumber  than  Dilsey,  and,  not  losing  a  min- 
ute, they  set  out  for  the  pile  as  soon  as  Old  Billy's  back 
was  turned,  and  made  such  good  time  that  they  both 
reached  it,  and  Chris  had  climbed  to  the  top  before  he 
saw  them ;  Diddie,  however,  was  only  half-way  up,  so  he 
made  a  run  at  her,  and  butted  her  feet  from  under  her, 
and  threw  her  back  to  the  ground.     This  time  he  hurt 


62  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot, 

her  very  much,  for  her  head  struck  against  the  lumber, 
and  it  cut  a  gash  in  her  forehead  and  made  the  blood 
come.  This  alarmed  Dumps  and  Tot,  and  they  both  be- 
gan to  cry,  though  they,  with  Riar,  were  safely  ensconced 
on  top  of  the  lumber,  out  of  all  danger.  Diddie,  too,  was 
crying  bitterly ;  and  as  soon  as  Billy  ran  back  to  butt  at 
Dilsey,  Chris  and  Riar  caught  hold  of  her  hands  and  drew 
her  up  on  the  pile. 

Poor  little  Dilsey  was  now  in  a  very  sad  predicament. 
Billy,  seeing  that  the  other  children  were  out  of  his  reach, 
devoted  his  entire  time  and  attention  to  her,  and  her  only 
safety  was  in  lying  flat  on  the  ground.  If  she  so  much  as 
lifted  her  head  to  reconnoitre,  he  would  plant  a  full  blow 
upon  it. 

The  children  were  at  their  wits'  end.  It  was  long  past 
their  dinner-time,  and  they  were  getting  hungry;  their 
clothes  were  all  muddy,  and  Diddie's  dress  almost  torn 
off  of  her ;  the  blood  was  trickling  down  from  the  gash  in 
her  forehead,  and  Chris  was  all  scratched  and  dirty,  and 
her  eyes  smarted  from  the  sand  in  them.  So  it  was  a 
disconsolate  little  group  that  sat  huddled  together  on 
top  of  the  lumber,  while  Old  Billy  stood  guard  over  Dil- 
sey, but  with  one  eye  on  the  pile,  ready  to  make  a  dash 
at  anybody  who  should  be  foolish  enough  to  venture 
down. 

"  I  tol'  yer  not  to  let  'im  come,"  sobbed  Dumps,  "  an' 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  63 

now  I  spec'  we'll  hafter  stay  here  all  night,  an'  not  have 
no  supper  nor  nothin'." 

"  I  didn't  let  'im  come,"  replied  Diddie  ;  "  he  come  him- 
self, an'  ef  you  hadn't  made  us  run  away  fum  Mammy, 
we  wouldn't  er  happened  to  all  this  trouble." 

"  I  never  made  yer,"  retorted  Dumps,  "  you  come  jes 
ez  much  ez  anybody ;  an'  ef  it  hadn't  er  been  fur  you,  Ole 
Billy  would  er  stayed  at  home.  You're  all  time  pettin' 
'im  an'  feedin'  'im — hateful  old  thing — tell  he  thinks  he's 
got  ter  go  ev'ywhere  we  go.  You  ought  ter  be  'shamed 
er  yourse'f.  Ef  I  was  you,  I'd  think  myse'f  too  good  ter 
be  always  er  'soshatin'  with  sheeps." 

"  You're  mighty  fond  of  'im  sometimes,"  said  Diddie, 
"  an'  you  was  mighty  glad  he  was  here  jes  now,  to  be 
Lord  Burgoyne :  he's  jes  doin'  this  fur  fun ;  an'  ef  Chris 
was  my  nigger,  I'd  make  her  git  down  an'  drive  'im  away." 

Chris  belonged  to  Dumps,  and  Mammy  had  taught  the 
children  never  to  give  orders  to  each  other's  maids,  unless 
with  full  permission  of  the  owner. 

"  I  ain't  gwine  hab  nuf 'n  ter  do  wid  'im,"  said  Chris. 

"  Yes  you  are,  Chris,"  replied  Dumps,  who  had  eagerly 
caught  at  Diddie's  suggestion  of  having  him  driven  away. 
"  Get  down  this  minute,  an'  drive  'im  off;  ef  yer  don't,  I'll 
tell  Mammy  you  wouldn't  min'  me." 

"  Mammy '11  hatter  whup  me,  den,"  said  Chris  (for  Mam- 
my always  punished  the  little  negroes  for  disobedience  to 


64  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

their  mistresses);  "  she'll  hatter  whup  me,caze  I  ain't  gwine 
ter  hab  nuf 'n  tall  ter  do  wid  dat  sheep ;  I  ain't  gwine  ter 
meddle  long  'im,  hab  'im  buttin'  me  in  de  ditch." 

"  Riar,  you  go,"  said  Diddie ;  "  he  ain't  butted  you  yet." 

"  He  ain't  gwine  ter,  nuther,"  said  Riar,  "  caze  I  gwine 
ter  stay  up  hyear  long  o'  Miss  Tot,  like  Mammy  tell  me. 
I  'longs  to  her,  an'  I  gwine  stay  wid  'er  myse'f,  an'  nuss 
'er  jes  like  Mammy  say." 

It  was  now  almost  dark,  and  Old  Billy  showed  no  signs 
of  weariness  ;  his  vigilance  was  unabated,  and  the  children 
were  very  miserable,  when  they  heard  the  welcome  sound 
of  Mammy's  voice  calling  "  Chil'en  !     O-o-o-o,  chil-en !" 

"  Ma-a-a-m !"  answered  all  of  the  little  folks  at  once. 

"Whar  is  yer?"  called  Mammy, 

"  On  top  the  lumber-pile,"  answered  the  children ;  and 
soon  Mammy  appeared  coming  through  the  woods. 

She  had  missed  the  children  at  snack-time,  and  had 
been  down  to  the  quarters,  and,  in  fact,  all  over  the  place, 
hunting  for  them.  The  children  were  delighted  to  see 
her  now,  and  so,  indeed,  seemed  Old  Billy,  for,  quitting 
his  position  at  Dilsey's  head,  he  set  out  at  his  best  speed 
for  Mammy,  and  Dilsey  immediately  jumped  to  her  feet, 
and  was  soon  on  the  lumber  with  her  companions. 

"  Now  yer  gwuf  fum  yer,  gwuf  fum  yer !"  said  Mammy, 
furiously  waving  a  cotton  -  stalk  at  Old  Billy.  "  Gwuf 
fum  yer,  I  tell  you !     I  ain't  bodern'  you.     I  jes  come  fur 


Diddie,  Dumps \  and  Tot.  65 

de  chil'en,  an'  yer  bet  not  fool  'long  er  me,  yer  low-life 
sheep." 

But  Old  Billy,  not  caring  a  fig  for  Mammy's  dignity  or 
importance,  planted  his  head  in  her  breast,  and  over  the 
old  lady  went  backwards.  At  this  the  children,  who  loved 
Mammy  dearly,  set  up  a  yell,  and  Mammy,  still  waving 
the  cotton-stalk,  attempted  to  rise,  but  Billy  was  ready 
for  her,  and,  with  a  well-aimed  blow,  sent  her  back  to  the 
earth. 

"  Now  yer  stop  dat,"  said  Mammy.  "  I  don't  want  ter 
fool  wid  yer ;  I  lay  I'll  bus'  yer  head  open  mun,  ef  I  git  er 
good  lick  at  yer ;  yer  better  gwuf  fum  yer !"  But  Billy,  be- 
ing master  of  the  situation,  stood  his  ground,  and  I  dare  say 
Mammy  would  have  been  lying  there  yet,  but  fortunately 
Uncle  Sambo  and  Bill,  the  wagoners,  came  along  the  big 
road,  and,  hearing  the  children's  cries,  they  came  upon 
the  scene  of  action,  and,  taking  their  whips  to  Old  Billy, 
soon  drove  him  away. 

"  Mammy,  we  won't  never  run  away  any  more,"  said  Did- 
die,  as  Mammy  came  up ;  "  'twas  Dumps's  fault,  anyhow." 

"  Nem  min,'  yer  ma's  gwine  whup  yer,"  said  Mammy; 
"  yer'd  no  business  at  dis  gin-house  long  o'  dat  sheep,  an' 
I  won'er  what  you  kinky-head  niggers  is  fur,  ef  yer  can't 
keep  de  chil'en  in  de  yard :  come  yer  ter  me !"  And, 
picking  up  a  cotton-stalk,  she  gave  each  of  the  little  dark- 
ies a  sound  whipping. 


66  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

The  children  were  more  fortunate.  Mamma  lectured 
them  on  the  sin  of  running  away  from  Mammy ;  but  she 
put  a  piece  of  court-plaster  on  Diddie's  head,  and  kissed 
all  of  the  dirty  little  faces,  much  to  Mammy's  disgust, 
who  grumbled  a  good  deal  because  they  were  not  pun- 
ished, saying, 

"  Missis  is  er  spilin'  dese  chil'en,  let'n  uv  'em  cut  up  all 
kind  er  capers.  Yer  all  better  hyear  me,  mun.  Yer  bet- 
ter quit  dem  ways  yer  got,  er  runnin'  off  an'  er  gwine  in 
de  mud,  an'  er  gittin'  yer  does  tor'd,  an'  er  gittin'  me 
butted  wid  sheeps ;  yer  better  quit  it,  I  tell  yer ;  ef  yer 
don't,  de  deb'l  gwine  git  yer,  sho's  yer  born." 

But,  notwithstanding  her  remarks,  the  little  girls  had  a 
nice  hot  supper,  and  went  to  bed  quite  happy,  while  Mam- 
my seated  herself  in  her  rocking-chair,  and  entertained 
Aunt  Milly  for  some  time  with  the  children's  evil  doings 
and  their  mother's  leniency. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DIDDIE'S    BOOK. 

ONE  morning  Diddie  came  into  the  nursery  with  a 
big  blank-book  and  a  lead-pencil  in  her  hand. 

"  What's  that,  Diddie?"  asked  Dumps,  leaving  her  pape* 
dolls  on  the  floor  where  she  had  been  playing  with  Chris, 
and  coming  to  her  sister's  side. 

"Now  don't  you  bother  me,  Dumps,"  said  Diddie;  "  I'm 
goin'  to  write  a  book." 

"Are  you?"  said  Dumps,  her  eyes  opening  wide  in  as- 
tonishment.    "  Who's  goin'  ter  tell  yer  what  ter  say?" 

"  I'm  goin'  ter  make  it  up  out  o'  my  head,"  said  Diddie ; 
"  all  about  little  girls  and  boys  and  ladies." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  no  boys  in  it,"  said  Dumps ;  "  they're 
always  so  hateful :  there's  Cousin  Frank  broke  up  my  tea- 
set,  an'  Johnnie  Miller  tied  er  string  so  tight  roun'  Cher- 
ubim's neck  till  hit  nyearly  choked  'im.  Ef  I  was  writin* 
er  book,  I  wouldn't  have  no  boys  in  it." 

"There's  boun'  ter  be  boys  in  it,  Dumps;  you  can't 
write  a  book  without'n  boys ;"  and  Diddie  seated  herself, 


68  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

and  opened  the  book  before  her,  while  Dumps,  with  her 
elbows  on  the  table  and  face  in  her  hands,  looked  on  anx- 
iously. "  I'm  not  goin'  ter  write  jes  one  straight  book," 
said  Diddie ;  "  I'm  goin'  ter  have  little  short  stories,  an' 
little  pieces  of  poetry,  an'  all  kin'  of  things ;  an'  I'll  name 
one  of  the  stories  '  Nettie  Herbert :'  don't  you  think  that's 
a  pretty  name,  Dumps?" 

"Jes'  beautiful,"  replied  Dumps;  and  Diddie  wrote  the 
name  at  the  beginning  of  the  book. 

"  Don't  you  think  two  pages  on  this  big  paper  will  be 
long  enough  for  one  story?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Plenty,"  answered  Dumps.  So  at  the  bottom  of  the 
second  page  Diddie  wrote  "  The  END  of  Nettie  Her- 
bert."" 

"  Now,  what  would  you  name  the  second  story?"  asked 
Diddie,  biting  her  pencil  thoughtfully. 

"  I'd  name  it  'The  Bad  Little  Girl,'  "  answered  Dumps. 

"  Yes,  that  will  do,"  said  Diddie,  and  she  wrote  "  The 
Bad  Little  Girl "  at  the  top  of  the  third  page ;  and,  allow- 
ing two  pages  for  the  story,  she  wrote  "  The  END  of  The 
Bad  Little  Girl"  at  the  bottom  of  the  next  page. 

"And  now  it's  time  for  some  poetry,"  said  Diddie,  and 
she  wrote  "  Poetry"  at  the  top  of  the  fifth  page,  and  so 
on  until  she  had  divided  all  of  her  book  into  places  for 
stories  and  poetry.  She  had  three  stories — "  Nettie  Her- 
bert," "  The  Bad  Little  Girl,"  and  "  Annie's  Visit  to  her 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  69 

Grandma."     She  had  one  place  for  poetry,  and  two  places 

she  had  marked  "  History ;"  for,  as  she  told  Dumps,  she 

wasn't  going  to  write  anything  unless  it  was  useful ;  she 

wasn't  going  to  write  just  trash. 

The  titles  being  all  decided  upon,  Dumps  and  Chris 

went  back  to  their  dolls,  and  Diddie  began  to  write  her 

first  stoiy. 

"Nettie  Herbert." 

"  Nettie  Herbert  was  a  poor  little  girl ;"  and  then  she 
stopped  and  asked, 

"  Dumps,  would  you  have  Nettie  Herbert  a  po'  little 
girl?" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  have  nobody  er  po'  little  girl,"  said 
Dumps,  conclusively,  and  Diddie  drew  a  line  through 
what  she  had  written,  and  began  again. 

"  Nettie  Herbert  was  a  rich  little  girl,  and  she  lived 
with  her  pa  and  ma  in  a  big  house  in  Nu  Orlins;  and 
one  time  her  father  give  her  a  gold  dollar,  and  she  went 
down  town,  and  bort  a  grate  big  wax  doll  with  open  and 
shet  eyes,  and  a  little  cooking  stove  with  pots  and  kittles, 
and  a  wuck  box,  and  lots  uv  peices  uv  clorf  to  make  doll 
does,  and  a  bu-te-ful  gold  ring,  and  a  lockit  with  her  pas 
hare  in  it,  and  a  big  box  full  uv  all  kinds  uv  candy  and 
nuts  and  razens  and  ornges  and  things,  and  a  little  git-ar 
to  play  chunes  on,  and  two  little  tubs  and  some  little  iuns 
to  wash  her  doll  does  with ;  then  she  bort  a  little  wheel- 


7°  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

barrer,  and  put  all  the  things  in  it,  and  started  fur  home. 
When  she  was  going  a  long,  presently  she  herd  sumbody 
cry  in  and  jes  a  sobbin  himself  most  to  deaf;  and  twas  a 
poor  little  boy  all  barefooted  and  jes  as  hungry  as  he  could 
be ;  and  he  said  his  ma  was  sick,  and  his  pa  was  dead,  and 
he  had  nine  little  sisters  and  seven  little  bruthers,  and  he 
hadnt  had  a  mouthful  to  eat  in  two  weeks,  and, no  place 
to  sleep,  nor  nuthin.  So  Nettie  went  to  a  doctors  house, 
and  told  him  she  would  give  him  the  gold  ring  fur  some 
fyssick  fur  the  little  boys  muther;  and  the  doctor  give 
her  some  castor-oil  and  parrygorick,  and  then  she  went  on 
tell  they  got  to  the  house,  and  Nettie  give  her  the  fyssick 
and  some  candy  to  take  the  taste  out  of  her  mouth,  and  it 
done  her  lots  uv  good  ;  and  she  give  all  her  nuts  and  candy 
to  the  poor  little  chillen.  And  she  went  back  to  the  man 
what  sold  her  the  things,  and  told  him  all  about  it ;  and  he 
took  back  all  the  little  stoves  and  tubs  and  iuns  and  thing: 
she  had  bort,  and  give  her  the  money,  and  she  carried  it 
strait  to  the  poor  woman,  and  told  her  to  buy  some  breac: 
and  does  for  her  chillen.  The  poor  woman  thanked  her 
very  much,  and  Nettie  told  em  good-by,  and  started  fur 
home." 

Here  Diddle  stopped  suddenly  and  said, 

"Come  here  a  little  minute,  Dumps;  I  want  you  to 
help  me  wind  up  this  tale."  Then,  after  reading  it  aloud, 
she  said,  "  You  see,  I've  only  got  six  mo'  lines  of  paper. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  7 1 

an'  I  haven't  got  room  to  tell  all  that  happened  to  her, 
an'  what  become  of  her.  How  would  you  wind  up,  if  you 
were  me?" 

"  I  b'lieve  I'd  say,  she  furgive  her  sisters,  an'  married 
the  prince,  an'  lived  happy  ever  afterwards,  like  '  Cinde- 
rilla  an'  the  Little  Glass  Slipper.'  '* 

11  Oh,  Dumps,  you're  such  er  little  goose ;  that  kind  of 
endin'  wouldn't  suit  my  story  at  all,"  said  Diddie ;  "  but 
I'll  have  to  wind  up  somehow,  for  all  the  little  girls  who 
read  the  book  will  want  to  know  what  become  of  her,  an' 
there's  only  six  lines  to  wind  up  in ;  an'  she's  only  a  little 
girl,  an'  she  can't  get  married ;  besides,  there  ain't  any 
prince  in  Nu  Orlins.  No,  somethin'  will  have  to  hap- 
pen to  her.  I  tell  you,  I  b'lieve  I'll  make  a  runaway  horse 
run  over  her  goin'  home." 

"  Oh,  no,  Diddie,  please  don't,"  entreated  Dumps ;  "  po' 
little  Nettie,  don't  make  the  horse  run  over  her." 

"  I'm  obliged  to,  Dumps ;  you  mustn't  be  so  tender-heart- 
ed ;  she's  got  ter  be  wound  up  somehow,  an'  I  might  let 
the  Injuns  scalp  her,  or  the  bears  eat  her  up,  an'  I'm  sure 
that's  a  heap  worse  than  jes  er  horse  runnin'  over  her ;  an' 
then  you  know  she  ain't  no  sho'  nuff  little  girl ;  she's  only 
made  up  out  of  my  head." 

"  I  don't  care,  I  don't  want  the  horse  to  run  over  her. 
I  think  it's  bad  enough  to  make  her  give  'way  all  her 
candy  an'  little  tubs  an'  iuns  an'  wheelbarrers,  without 


72  Diddle^  Dumps \  and  Tot, 

lettin'  the  horses  run  over  her ;  an'  ef  that's  the  way  you're 
goin'  ter  do,  I  sha'n't  have  nuthin'  'tall  ter  do  with  it." 

And  Dumps,  having  thus  washed  her  hands  of  the  whole 
affair,  went  back  to  her  dolls,  and  Diddie  resumed  her 
writing : 

"  As  she  was  agoin  along,  presently  she  herd  sum- 
thin  cumin  book-er-ty-book,  book-er-ty-book,  and  there 
was  a  big  horse  and  a  buggy  cum  tearin  down  the  road, 
and  she  ran  jes  hard  as  she  could ;  but  befo  she  could  git 
out  er  the  way,  the  horse  ran  rite  over  her,  and  killed 
her,  and  all  the  people  took  her  up  and  carried  her  home, 
and  put  flowers  all  on  her,  and  buried  her  at  the  church, 
and  played  the  organ  'bout  her ;  and  that's 
"  The  END  of  Nettie  Herbert." 

"  Oh,  dear  me !"  she  sighed,  when  she  had  finished, 
"  I  am  tired  of  writin'  books ;  Dumps,  sposin'  you  make 
up  'bout  the  '  Bad  Little  Girl,'  an'  I'll  write  it  down  jes 
like  you  tell  me." 

"All  right,"  assented  Dumps,  once  more  leaving  her 
dolls,  and  coming  to  the  table.  Then,  after  thinking  for 
a  moment,  she  began,  with  great  earnestness : 

"  Once  pun  er  time  there  was  er  bad  little  girl,  an'  she 
wouldn't  min'  nobody,  nor  do  no  way  nobody  wanted  her 
to  ;  and  when  her  mother  went  ter  give  her  fyssick,  you  jes 
ought  ter  seen  her  cuttin'  up !  she  skweeled,  an'  she  hoi- 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  73 

ler'd,  an'  she  kicked,  an'  she  jes  done  ev'y  bad  way  she 
could ;  an'  one  time  when  she  was  er  goin'  on  like  that 
the  spoon  slipped  down  her  throat,  an'  choked  her  plum 
ter  death ;  an'  not  long  after  that,  when  she  was  er  playin' 
one  day — " 

"Oh,  but,  Dumps,"  interrupted  Diddie,  "you  said  she 
was  dead." 

"  No,  I  nuver  said  nuthin'  'bout  her  bein'  dead,"  replied 
Dumps;  "an'  ef  you  wrote  down  that  she's  dead,  then 
you  wrote  a  story,  'cause  she's  livin'  as  anybody." 

"  You  said  the  spoon  choked  her  to  death,"  said  Diddie. 

"  Well,  hit  nuver  killed  her,  anyhow,"  said  Dumps ; 
"  hit  jes  only  give  her  spasums ;  an'  now  you've  gone  and 
put  me  all  out;  what  was  I  sayin'?" 

"  When  she  was  er  playin'  one  day,"  prompted  Diddie. 

"  Oh  yes,"  continued  Dumps,  "  when  she  was  er  playin' 
one  day  on  the  side  uv  the  creek  with  her  little  sister,  she 
got  ter  fightin'  an'  pinchin'  an'  scrougin',  an'  the  fus  thing 
she  knowed,  she  fell  kersplash  in  the  creek,  and  got  drownd- 
ed.  An'  one  time  her  mammy  tol'  'er  not  nuber  ter  dim' 
up  on  the  fender,  an'  she  neber  min'  'er,  but  clum  right 
upon  the  fender  ter  git  an  apple  off'n  the  mantel-piece ; 
an'  the  fender  turned  over,  an'  she  fell  in  the  fire  an'  burnt 
all  up.  An'  another  time,  jes  er  week  after  that,  she  was 
er  foolin'  'long — " 

"  Dumps,  what  are  you  talkin'  'bout?"  again  interrupted 


J74  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

Diddie.  "  She  couldn't  be  er  foolin'  long  o'  nothin'  ef  she's 
dead." 

"But  she  ain't  dead,  Diddie,"  persisted  Dumps. 

"Well,  you  said  the  fire  burned  her  up,"  retorted 
Diddie. 

"  I  don't  care  ef  hit  did,"  said  Dumps ;  "  she  nuver  died 
bout  hit ;  an'  ef  you're  goin'  ter  keep  sayin'  she's  dead, 
then  I  sha'n't  tell  yer  no  mo'." 

"  Go  on,  then,"  said  Diddie, "  and  I  won't  bother  you." 

"  Well,  one  time,"  continued  Dumps,  "  when  she  was 
er  foolin'  'long  o'  cow,  what  she  had  no  business,  the  cow 
run  his  horns  right  through  her  neck,  an'  throwed  her 
way-ay-ay  up  yon'er;  an'  she  nuver  come  down  no  mo', 
an'  that's  all." 

"  But,  Dumps,  what  become  of  her?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  I  dunno  what  become  uv  her,"  said  Dumps.  "  She 
went  ter  hebn,  I  reckon." 

"  But  she  couldn't  go  ter  hebn  ef  she's  so  bad,"  said 
Diddie ;  "  the  angel  wouldn't  let  her  come  in." 

"  The  cow  throwed  her  in,"  said  Dumps, "  an*  the  angel 
wan't  er  lookin',  an'  he  nuver  knowed  nuthin'  'bout  it." 

"  That's  er  mighty  funny  story,"  said  Diddie ;  "  but  I'll 
let  it  stay  in  the  book — only  you  ain't  finished  it,  Dumps, 
Hyear's  fo'  mo'  lines  of  paper  ain't  written  yet." 

"  That's  all  I  know,"  replied  Dumps.  And  Diddie,  aftei 
considering  awhile,  said  she  thought  it  would  be  very  nice 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  75 

to  wind  it  up  with  a  piece  of  poetry.  Dumps  was  delight- 
ed at  that  suggestion,  and  the  little  girls  puzzled  their 
brains  for  rhymes.  After  thinking  for  some  time,  Diddie 
wrote, 

"Once  'twas  a  little  girl,  and  she  was  so  bad," 

and  read  it  aloud ;  then  said, "  Now,  Dumps,  sposin'  you 
make  up  the  nex'  line." 

Dumps  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  remained  in 
deep  study  for  a  few  moments,  and  presently  said, 

•'And  now  she  is  dead,  an'  I  am  so  glad." 

"  Oh,  Dumps,  that's  too  wicked,"  said  Diddie.  "  You 
mustn't  never  be  glad  when  anybody's  dead ;  that's  too 
wicked  a  poetry;  I  sha'n't  write  it  in  the  book." 

"Well,  I  nuver  knowed  nuthin'  else,"  said  Dumps.  "  I 
couldn't  hardly  make  that  up ;  I  jes  had  ter  study  all  my 
might ;  and  I'm  tin_d  of  writin  poetry,  anyhow ;  you 
make  it  up  all  by  yoursef." 

Diddie,  with  her  brows  drawn  together  in  a  frown,  and 
her  eyes  tight  shut,  chewed  the  end  of  her  pencil,  and, 
after  a  few  moments,  said, 

"  Dumps,  do  you  min'  ef  the  cow  was  to  run  his  horns 
through  her  forrid  stid  of  her  neck  ?" 

"  No,  hit  don't  make  no  diffrence  to  me,"  replied  Dumps. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Diddie,  "  ef  'twas  her  forrid,  I  kin 
fix  it." 


76  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

So,  after  a  little  more  study  and  thought,  Diddie  wound 
up  the  story  thus : 

"  Once  'twas  er  little  girl,  so  wicked  and  horrid, 
Till  the  cow  run  his  horns  right  slap  through  her  forrid, 
And  throwed  her  to  hebn  all  full  of  her  sin, 
And,  the  gate  bein  open,  he  pitched  her  right  in." 

And  that  was  "  The  END  of  the  Bad  Little  Girl." 

"  Now  there's  jes  one  mo'  tale,"  said  Diddie,  "  and  that's 
about  'Annie's  Visit,'  an'  I'm  tired  of  makin'  up  books; 
Chris,  can't  you  make  up  that  ?" 

"  I  dunno  hit,"  said  Chris,  "  but  I  kin  tell  yer  'bout'n 
de  tar  baby,  ef  dat'll  do." 

"  Don't  you  think  that'll  do  jes  as  well,  Dumps?"  asked 
Diddie. 

"  Certingly !"  replied  Dumps.  So  Diddie  drew  her  pen- 
cil through  "Annie's  Visit,"  and  wrote  in  its  place, 

"The  Tar  Baby," 
and  Chris  began : 

"  Once  pun  a  time,  'twuz  er  ole  Rabbit  an'  er  ole  Fox 

and  er  ole  Coon:  an'  dey  all  lived  close  togedder;  an'  de 

ole  Fox  he  had  him  er  mighty  fine  goober-patch,  w'at  he 

nuber  'low  nobody  ter  tech ;  an'  one  momin'  atter  he  git 

up,  an'  wuz  er  walkin8  'bout  in  liis  gyarden,  he  seed  tracks, 

an'  he  foller  de  tracks,  an'  he  see  whar  sumbody  ben  er 

grabbin'  uv  his  goobers.     An'  ev'y  day  he  see  de  same 

thing ;  an'  he  watch,  an'  he  watch,  an'  he  couldn't  nuber 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  J  J 

cotch  nobody !  an'  he  went,  he  did,  ter  de  Coon,  and 
he  sez,  sezee,  •  Brer  Coon,  dar's  sumbody  stealin'  uv  my 
goobers.' 

" '  Well,'  sez  Brer  Coon,  sezee,  '  I  bet  yer  hit's  Brer 
Rabbit.' 

"  '  I  lay  I'll  fix  'im,'  sez  Brer  Fox ;  so  he  goes,  he  does, 
and  he  tuck'n  made  er  man  out'n  tar,  an'  he  sot  'im,  he 
did,  right  in  de  middle  uv  de  goober-patch.  Well,  sar, 
soon  ez  eber  de  moon  riz,  Brer  Rabbit,  he  stole  outn  his 
house,  and  he  lit  right  out  fur  dem  goobers ;  and  by'm- 
by  he  sees  de  tar  man  er  stanin'  dar,  an'  he  hollers  out, 
'  Who's  dat  er  stanin'  dar  an'  er  fixin'  ter  steal  Brer 
Fox's  goobers  ?'  Den  he  lis'en,  and  nobody  nuver  anser, 
and  he  'gin  ter  git  mad,  and  he  sez,  sezee, '  Yer  brack  nig- 
ger you,  yer  better  anser  me  wen  I  speaks  ter  yer;'  and 
wid  dat  he  hault  off,  he  did,  and  hit  de  tar  baby  side  de 
head,  and  his  han'  stuck  fas'  in  de  tar.  '  Now  yer  better 
turn  me  er  loose,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee ;  '  I  got  er  nuther 
han'  lef','  and  'ker  bum'  he  come  wid  his  udder  han', 
on  de  tar  baby's  tuther  jaw,  an'  dat  han'  stuck. 

"  '  Look  er  hyear !  who  yer  foolin'  wid  ?'  sez  Brer  Rabbit ; 
'  I  got  er  foot  yit.'  Den  he  kick  wid  all  his  might,  an'  his 
foot  stuck.  Den  he  kick  wid  his  udder  foot,  an'  dat 
stuck.  Den  Brer  Rabbit  he  'gun  ter  git  madder'n  he  wuz, 
an'  sezee,  '  Ef  yer  fool  'long  o'  me  mun,  I'll  butt  de  life 
out'n  yer;'  an'  he  hault  off  wid  his  head,  an'  butt  de  tar 


78  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

baby  right  in  de  chis,  an'  his  head  stuck.  Den  dar  he 
wuz !  an'  dar  he  had  ter  stay,  till,  by'mby,  Brer  Fox  he 
come  er  long,  an'  he  seed  de  Rabbit  er  stickin'  dar,  an'  he 
tuck  him  up,  an'  he  cyard  'im  long  ter  Brer  Coon's  house, 
an'  he  sez,  sezee, 

" '  Brer  Coon,  hyear's  de  man  wat  stole  my  goobers ; 
now  wat  mus'  I  do  wid  'im  ?' 

"  Brer  Coon  tuck  de  Fox  off  one  side,  he  did,  an'  he 
say,  '  Le's  give  'im  his  chice,  wheder  he'd  er  ruther  be 
tho'd  in  de  fire  or  de  brier-patch ;  an'  ef  he  say  de  fire, 
den  we'll  fling  'im  in  de  briers ;  an'  ef  he  say  de  briers, 
den  we'll  fling  'im  in  de  fire.'  So  dey  went  back  ter  de 
Rabbit,  an'  ax  'im  wheder  he'd  er  ruther  be  tho'd  in  de 
fire  or  de  briers. 

" '  Oh,  Brer  Fox,'  sezee,  '  plee-ee-eeze  don't  tho  me  in 
de  briers,  an'  git  me  all  scratched  up  ;  plee-ee-eeze  tho 
me  in  de  fire ;  fur  de  Lord's  sake,'  sezee, '  don't  tho  me  in 
de  briers.' 

"  And  wid  dat,  Brer  Fox  he  lif '  'im  up,  an'  tho'd  'im 
way-ay-ay  over  in  de  briers.  Den  Brer  Rabbit  he  kick  up 
his  heels,  he  did,  an'  he  laugh,  an'  he  laugh,  an'  he  hol- 
ler out, 

" '  Good-bye,  Brer  Fox !  Far'  yer  well,  Brer  Coon !  I 
wuz  born  an'  riz  in  de  briers !'  And  wid  dat  he  lit  right 
out,  he  did,  an'  he  nuber  stop  tell  he  got  clean  smack 
home." 


"THE  TAR  BABY 


Diddle^  Dumps ;  and  Tot.  81 

The  children  were  mightily  pleased   with  this  story; 
and  Diddie,  after  carefully  writing  underneath  it, 

"  The  END  of  The  Tar  Baby," 
said  she  could  write  the  poetry  and  history  part  some 
other  day ;  so  she  closed  the  book,  and  gave  it  to  Mammy 
to  put  away  for  her,  and  she  and  Dumps  went  out  for  a 
ride  on  Corbin. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

UNCLE  SNAKE-BIT  BOB'S  SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

THERE  was  no  more  faithful  slave  in  all  the  South* 
land  than  old  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob.  He  had  been 
bitten  by  a  rattlesnake  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  the  limb 
had  to  be  amputated,  and  its  place  was  supplied  with  a 
wooden  peg.  There  were  three  or  four  other  "  Bobs  "  on 
the  plantation,  and  he  was  called  Snake-bit  to  distinguish 
him.  Though  lame,  and  sick  a  good  deal  of  his  time,  his 
life  had  not  been  wasted,  nor  had  he  been  a  useless  slave 
to  his  master.  He  made  all  of  the  baskets  that  were  used 
in  the  cotton-picking  season,  and  had  learned  to  mend 
shoes ;  besides  that,  he  was  the  great  horse-doctor  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  not  only  cured  his  master's  horses  and 
mules,  but  was  sent  for  for  miles  around  to  see  the  sick 
stock  ;  and  then,  too,  he  could  re-bottom  chairs,  and  make 
buckets  and  tubs  and  brooms ;  and  all  of  the  money  he 
made  was  his  own :  so  the  old  man  had  quite  a  little  store 
of  gold  and  silver  sewed  up  in  an  old  bag  and  buried 
somewhere — nobody  knew  where  except  himself;  for  Un- 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  83 

cle  Snake-bit  Bob  had  never  married,  and  had  no  family 
ties;  and,  furthermore,  he  was  old  Granny  Rachel's  only 
child,  and  Granny  had  died  long,  long  ago,  ever  since  the 
children's  mother  was  a  baby,  and  he  had  no  brothers 
or  sisters.  So,  having  no  cause  to  spend  his  money,  he 
had  laid  it  up  until  now  he  was  a  miser,  and  would 
steal  out  by  himself  at  night  and  count  his  gold  and  sil- 
ver, and  chuckle  over  it  with  great  delight. 

But  he  was  a  very  good  old  man ;  as  Mammy  used  to 
say,  "  he  wuz  de  piuses  man  dar  wuz  on  de  place ;"  and 
he  had  for  years  led  in  "  de  pra'r-meetin's,  and  called  up 
de  mo'ners." 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  on  a  hog-pen  talking  to  Uncle 
Daniel,  who  was  a  preacher,  they  began  to  speak  of  the 
wickedness  among  the  young  negroes  on  the  plantation. 

"  Pyears  ter  me,"  said  Uncle  Bob,  "  ez  ef  dem  niggers 
done  furgot  dey  got  ter  die ;  dey  jes  er  dancin'  an'  er 
cavortin'  ev'y  night,  an'  dey'll  git  lef ',  mun,  wheneber  dat 
angel  blow  his  horn.  I  tell  you  what  I  ben  er  stud'n, 
Brer  Dan'l.  I  ben  er  stud'n  dat  what's  de  matter  wid 
deze  niggers  is,  dat  de  chil'en  ain't  riz  right.  Yer  know 
de  Book  hit  sez  ef  yer  raise  de  chil'en,  like  yer  want  'em 
ter  go,  den  de  ole  uns  dey  won't  part  fum  hit ;  an',  sar,  ef 
de  Lord  spars  me  tell  nex'  Sunday,  I  'low  ter  ax  marster 
ter  lemme  teach  er  Sunday-school  in  de  gin-house  fur  de 
chil'en." 


84  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

Major  Waldron  heartily  consented  to  Uncle  Bob's  prop- 
osition, and  had  the  gin-house  all  swept  out  for  him,  and 
had  the  carpenter  to  make  him  some  rough  benches.  And 
when  the  next  Sunday  evening  came  around,  all  of  the 
little  darkies,  with  their  heads  combed  and  their  Sunday 
clothes  on,  assembled  for  the  Sunday-school.  The  white 
children  begged  so  hard  to  go  too,  that  finally  Mammy 
consented  to  take  them.  So  when  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob 
walked  into  the  gin-house,  their  eager  little  faces  were 
among  those  of  his  pupils.  "  Now,  you  all  sot  down," 
said  Uncle  Bob,  "  an'  'have  yerse'fs  till  I  fix  yer  in  er  line." 
Having  arranged  them  to  his  satisfaction,  he  delivered  to 
them  a  short  address,  setting  forth  the  object  of  the  meet- 
ing, and  his  intentions  concerning  them.  "  Chil'en,"  he 
began,  "  I  fotch  yer  hyear  dis  ebenin  fur  ter  raise  yer  like 
yer  ought  ter  be  riz.  De  folks  deze  days  is  er  gwine  ter 
strucshun  er  dancin'  an'  er  pickin*  uv  banjers  an'  er  sing, 
in'  uv  reel  chunes  an'  er  cuttin'  up  uv  ev'y  kin'  er  dev'l- 
ment.  I  ben  er  watchin'  'em ;  an',  min'  yer,  when  de 
horn  hit  soun'  fur  de  jes'  ter  rise,  half  de  niggers  gwine  ter 
be  wid  de  onjes'.  An'  I  'low  ter  myse'f  dat  I  wuz  gwine 
ter  try  ter  save  de  chil'en.  I  gwine  ter  pray  fur  yer,  I 
gwine  ter  struc  yer,  an'  I  gwine  do  my  bes'  ter  Ian'  yer  in 
hebn.  Now  yer  jes  pay  tenshun  ter  de  strucshun  I  gwine 
give  yer — dat's  all  I  ax  uv  yer — an'  me  an'  de  Lord  we 
gwine  do  de  res'." 


Diddie,  Dtimps,  and  Tot.  85 

After  this  exhortation,  the  old  man  began  at  the  top 
if  the  line,  and  asked  "  Gus,"  a  bright-eyed  little  nig, 
*  Who  made  you  ?" 

"I  dun  no,  sar,"  answered  Gus,  very  untruthfully,  for 
Aunt  Nancy  had  told  him  repeatedly. 

"  God  made  yer,"  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  Now,  who  made 
yer?" 

"  God,"  answered  Gus. 

"  Dat's  right,"  said  the  old  man ;  then  proceeded  to 
"  Jim,"  the  next  in  order.  "  What'd  he  make  yer  outn  ?" 
demanded  the  teacher. 

"  I  dunno,  sar,"  answered  Jim,  with  as  little  regard  for 
truth  as  Gus  had  shown. 

"  He  made  yer  out'n  dut,"  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  Now, 
what'd  he  make  yer  out'n?" 

"  Dut,"  answered  Jim,  promptly,  and  the  old  man 
passed  on  to  the  next. 

"What'd  he  make  yer  fur?" 

Again  the  answer  was,  "  I  dunno,  sar ;"  and  the  old 
man,  after  scratching  his  head  and  reflecting  a  moment, 
said,  "  Fur  ter  do  de  bes'  yer  kin,"  which  the  child  repeat- 
ed after  him. 

"  Who  wuz  de  fus  man  ?"  was  his  next  question ;  and 
the  little  nig  professing  ignorance,  as  usual,  the  old  man 
replied,  "  Marse  Adum."  And  so  he  went  all  down  the 
line,  explaining  that  "  Marse  Cain  kilt  his  brudder ;"  that 


86  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Marse  Abel  wuz  de  fus  man  slewed ;"  that  "  Marse 
Noah  built  de  ark;"  that  "Marse  Thuselum  wuz  de  oldes' 
man,"  and  so  on,  until  he  reached  the  end  of  the  line, 
and  had  almost  exhausted  his  store  of  information. 
Then,  thinking  to  see  how  much  the  children  remem- 
bered, he  began  at  the  top  of  the  line  once  more,  and 
asked  the  child, 

"  Who  made  yer?" 

"  Dut,"  answered  the  little  negro. 

"  Who  ?"  demanded  Uncle  Bob,  in  astonishment. 

"  Dut,"  replied  the  child. 

"  Didn'  I  tell  yer  God  made  yer?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"No,  sar,"  replied  the  boy;  "  dat'n  wat  God  made 
done  slip  out  de  do'." 

And  so  it  was.  As  soon  as  Uncle  Bob's  back  was  turned, 
Gus,  who  had  wearied  of  the  Sunday-school,  slipped  out, 
and  the  old  man  had  not  noticed  the  change. 

The  confusion  resulting  from  this  trifling  circumstance 
was  fearful.  "  Dut "  made  the  first  child.  The  question, 
"What  did  he  make  yer  fur?"  was  promptly  answered, 
•"  Marse  Adum."  "  Eve  wuz  de  fus  man."  "  Marse  Cain 
wuz  de  fus  'oman."  "  Marse  Abel  kilt  his  brudder." 
"  Marse  Noah  wuz  de  fus  one  slewed."  "  Marse  Thuse- 
lum built  de  ark."  And  so  on,  until  the  old  man  had  to 
begin  all  over  again,  and  give  each  one  a  new  answer. 
The  catechising  through  with,  Uncle  Bob  said : 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  87 

"  Now,  chil'en,  I  gwine  splain  de  Scripchurs  ter  yer.  I 
gwine  tell  yer  boutn  Dan'l  in  de  lions'  den.  Dan'l  wuz  er 
good  Christyun  man  war.  lived  in  de  Bible ;  and  whedder 
he  wuz  er  white  man  or  whedder  he  wuz  er  brack  man  I 
dunno  ;  I  ain't  nuber  hyeard  nobody  say.  But  dat's  neder 
hyear  nor  dar;  he  wuz  er  good  man,  and  he  pray  tree 
times  eby  day.  At  de  fus  peepin'  uv  de  day,  Brer  Dan'l 
he  usen  fur  ter  hop  outn  his  bed  and  git  down  on  his 
knees;  and  soon's  eber  de  horn  hit  blowed  fur  de  hans 
ter  come  outn  de  field  fur  dinner,  Brer  Dan'l  he  went  in 
his  house,  he  did,  and  he  flop  right  back  on  'is  knees. 
And  wen  de  sun  set,  den  dar  he  wuz  agin  er  prayin'  and 
er  strivin'  wid  de  Lord. 

"  Well,  de  king  uv  dat  kentry,  he  'low  he  nuber  want 
no  prayin'  bout  'im  ;  he  sez,  sezee, '  I  want  de  thing  fur  ter 
stop  ;'  but  Brer  Dan'l,  he  nuber  studid  'im  ;  he  jes  prayed 
right  on,  tell  by'mby  de  king  he  'low  dat  de  nex'  man  wat 
he  cotch  prayin'  he  wuz  gwine  cas'm  in  de  lions'  den. 

"Well,  nex'  mornin,  soon's  Brer  Dan'l  riz  fum  'is  bed, 
he  lit  right  on  'is  knees,  an'  went  ter  prayin' ;  an'  wile  he 
wuz  er  wrestlin'  in  prar  de  pater-rollers  dey  come  in,  an' 
dey  tied  'im  han'  an'  foot  wid  er  rope,  an'  tuck  'im  right 
erlong  tell  dey  come  ter  de  lions'  den ;  an'  wen  dey  wuz 
yit  er  fur  ways  fum  dar  dey  hyeard  de  lions  er  ro'in  an* 
er  sayin', '  Ar-ooorrrrar !  aroooorrrrrar !'  an'  all  dey  hearts 
'gun  ter  quake  sept'n  Brer  Dan'l's ;  he  nuber  note's  'em ;  he 


88  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

jes  pray  'long.  By'mby  dey  git  ter  de  den,  an'  dey  tie  er 
long  rope  roun'  Brer  Dan'l's  was'e,  an'  tho  'im  right  in! 
an'  den  dey  drawed  up  de  rope,  an'  went  back  whar  dey 
come  fum. 

"  Well,  yearly  nex'  mornin  hyear  dey  come  agin,  an'  dis 
time  de  king  he  come  wid  'em  ;  an'  dey  hyeard  de  lions  ef 
ro'in,  '  Ar-ooorrrrar !  arooorrrrar !'  an'  dey  come  ter  de 
den,  an'  dey  open  de  do',  an'  dar  wuz  de  lions  wid  dey 
mouf  open  an'  dey  eyes  er  shinin',  jes  er  trompin'  back- 
erds  an'  forerds  ;  an'  dar  in  de  corner  sot  an  angel  smoovin' 
uv  'is  wings;  an'  right  in  de  middle  uv  de  den  was  Dan'l, 
jes  er  sot'n  back  dar !  Gemmun,  lie  wuzn  totch !  he 
nuber  so  much  as  had  de  smell  uv  de  lions  bout'n  'im  ! 
he  wuz  jes  as  whole,  mun,  as  he  wuz  de  day  he  wuz  born  ! 
Eben  de  boots  on  'im,  sar,  wuz  ez  shiny  ez  dey  wuz  wen 
dey  put  'im  in  dar. 

"An'  he  jes  clum  up  de  side  uv  de  den,  he  did;  an' 
soon's  uber  his  feet  tech  de  yeath,  he  sez  ter  de  king, 
sezee,  '  King,  hit  ain't  no  usen  fur  yer  ter  fool  erlong  o' 
me,'  sezee ;  '  I'm  er  prayin'  man  mysef,  an  I  'low  ter  live 
an'  die  on  my  knees  er  prayin'  an'  er  sarvin'  de  Lord.' 
Sezee,  '  De  Lord  ain't  gwine  let  de  lions  meddle  long  o' 
me,'  sezee ;  '  I  ain't  fyeard  o'  nufn,'  sezee.  '  De  Lord  is 
my  strengt  an'  my  rocks,  an'  I  ain't  er  fyeard  o'  NO  man.' 
An'  wid  dat  he  helt  er  preachin',  sar,  right  whar  he  wuz ; 
an'  he  tol'  'em  uv  dey  sins,  an'  de  goodness  uv  de  Lord. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  89 

He  preach  de  word,  he  did,  right  erlong,  an'  atter  dat  he 
'gun  ter  sing  dis  hymn : 

" '  Dan'l  wuz  er  prayirv'  man ; 
He  pray  tree  times  er  day ; 
De  Lord  he  hist  de  winder, 
Fur  ter  hyear  po'  Dan'l  pray.' 

"  Den  he  'gun  ter  call  up  de  mo'ners,  an'  dey  come  too ! 
Mun,  de  whole  yeath  wuz  erlive  wid  'em :  de  white 
folks  dey  went  up ;  an'  de  niggers  dey  went  up ;  an'  de 
pater-rollers  dey  went  up ;  an'  de  king  he  went  up ;  an' 
dey  all  come  thu  an'  got  'ligion ;  an'  fum  dat  day  dem 
folks  is  er  sarvin'  de  Lord. 

"  An'  now,  chil'en,  efn  yer  be  like  Brer  Dan'l,  an'  say 
yer  prars,  an'  put  yer  pen'ence  in  de  Lord,  yer  needn  be 
er  fyeard  uv  no  lions ;  de  Lord,  he'll  take  cyar  uv  yer,  an' 
he'll  be  mighty  proud  ter  do  it. 

"Now,"  continued  the  old  man,  "we'll  close  dis  meet'n 
by  singin'  uv  er  hymn,  an'  den  yer  kin  all  go.  I'll  give  de 
hymn  out,  so's  dar  needn't  be  no  'scuse  'bout  not  know'n 
uv  de  words,  an'  so's  yer  all  kin  sing." 

The  children  rose  to  their  feet,  and  Uncle  Bob,  with 
great  solemnity,  gave  out  the  following  hymn,  which 
they  all,  white  and  black,  sang  with  great  fervor: 

"  O  bless  us,  Lord  !  O  bless  us,  Lord  ! 
O  bless  us  mo'  an'  mo' ; 
Unless  yer'll  come  an'  bless  us,  Lord, 
We  will  not  let  yer  go. 


Qo  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 


"  My  marster,  Lord ;  my  marster,  Lord- 

O  Lord,  he  does  his  bes', 
So  when  yer  savin'  sinners,  Lord, 

Save  him  wid  all  de  res'. 
O  bless  us,  Lord  !  O  bless  us,  Lord  ! 

An'  keep  us  in  yer  cyar  ; 
Unless  yer'll  come  an'  bless  us,  Lord, 

We're  gwine  ter  hoi'  yer  hyear. 


:'  My  missus,  Lord  ;  my  missus,  Lord, 

O  bless  my  missus  now — 
She's  tryin'  hard  ter  serve  yer,  Lord, 

But  den  she  dunno  how. 
O  bless  us,  Lord  !  O  bless  us,  Lord  ! 

O  bless  us  now,  we  pray  ; 
Unless  yer'll  come  an'  bless  us,  Lord, 

We  won't  leave  hyear  ter  day. 


"  Deze  chil'en,  Lord  ;  deze  chil'en,  Lord, 

O  keep  dey  little  feet 
Er  gwien  straight  ter  hebn,  Lord, 

Fur  ter  walk  dat  golden  street. 
O  bless  us,  Lord  !  O  bless  us,  Lord  ! 

O  come  in  all  yer  might ; 
Unless  yer'll  come  an'  bless  us,  Lord, 

We'll  wrestle  hyear  all  night. 


'5  Deze  niggers,  Lord  ;  deze  niggers,  Lordo 

Dey  skins  is  black,  hit's  true, 
But  den  dey  souls  is  white,  my  Lord, 

So  won't  yer  bless  dem  too  ? 
O  bless  us,  Lord  !  O  bless  us,  Lord  ! 

O  bless  us  mo'  an'  mo' ; 
Unless  yer'll  come  an'  bless  us,  Lord, 

We'll  keep  yer  hyear  fur  sho. 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  91 


"  All  folkses,  Lord  ;  all  folkses,  Lord — 

O  Lord,  bless  all  de  same. 
O  bless  de  good,  an'  bless  de  bad, 

Fur  de  glory  uv  dy  name. 
Now  bless  us,  Lord  !  now  bless  us,  Lord  ! 

Don't  fool  'long  o'  us,  no  mo'  ; 
O  sen'  us  down  de  blessin',  Lord, 

An'  den  we'll  let  yer  go." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

POOR  ANN. 

MISS  DIDDIE  I"  called  Dilsey,  running  into  the 
nursery  one  morning  in  a  great  state  of  excite- 
ment ;  then,  seeing  that  Diddie  was  not  there,  she  stopped 
short,  and  demanded,  "Whar  Miss  Diddie?" 

"  She's  sayin'  her  lessons,"  answered  Dumps.  "  What 
do  you  want  with  her?" 

"  De  specerlaters  is  come,"  said  Dilsey ;  dey's  right 
down  yon'er  on  de  crick  banks  back  er  de  quarters." 

In  an  instant  Dumps  and  Tot  had  abandoned  their 
dolls,  and  Chris  and  Riar  had  thrown  aside  their  quilt- 
pieces  (for  Aunt  Milly  was  teaching  them  to  sew),  and 
they  were  all  just  leaving  the  room  when  Mammy  en- 
tered. 

"  Whar  yer  gwine  ?"  asked  Mammy. 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  de  specerlaters  is  come,"  said  Dumps, 
"  an'  we're  goin'  down  to  the  creek  to  see  'urn." 

"No  yer  ain't,  nuther,"  said  Mammy.  "Yer  ain't  er 
gwine  er  nyear  dem  specerlaters,  er  cotchin'  uv  measles 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  93 

an'  hookin'-coffs  an'  sich,  fum  dem  niggers.  Yer  ain't 
gwine  er  nyear  urn;  an'  yer  jes  ez  well  fur  ter  tuck  off 
dem  bunnits,  an'  ter  set  yerse'fs  right  back  on  de  fio'  an' 
go  ter  playin'.  An'  efn  you  little  niggers  don't  tuck  up 
dem  quilt-pieces  an'  go  ter  patchin'  uv  'em,  I  lay  I'll  hu't 
yer,  mun !  Who  dat  tell  deze  chil'en  'bout  de  specer- 
laters?" 

"  Hit  uz  Dilsey,"  answered  Chris  and  Riar  in  a  breath; 
and  Mammy,  giving  Dilsey  a  sharp  slap,  said, 

"  Now  yer  come  er  prancin'  in  hyear  ergin  wid  all  kin' 
er  news,  an'  I  bet  yer'll  be  sorry  fur  it.  Yer  know  better'n 
dat.  Yer  know  deze  chil'en  ain't  got  no  bizness  'long  o' 
specerlaters." 

In  the  meanwhile  Dumps  and  Tot  were  crying  over 
their  disappointment. 

"Yer  mean  old  thing!"  sobbed  Dumps.  "I  ain't  goin' 
ter  min'  yer,  nuther;  an'  I  sha'n't  nuver  go  ter  sleep  no 
mo',  an'  let  yer  go  to  prayer-meetin's ;  jes  all  time  both- 
erin'  me,  an'  won't  lemme  see  de  specerlaters,  nor  noth- 
in'." 

"  Jes  lis'en  how  yer  talkin',"  said  Mammy,  "  givin'  me 
all  dat  sass.  You're  de  sassies'  chile  marster's  got.  No- 
body can't  nuver  larn  yer  no  manners,  aller  er  sassin  ole 
pussons.  Jes  keep  on,  an'  yer'll  see  wat'll  happen  ter  yer; 
yer'll  wake  up  some  er  deze  mornins,  an'  yer  won't  have 
no  hyar  on  yer  head.     I  knowed  er  little  gal  onct  wat 


94  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

sassed  her  mudder,  an'  de  Lord  he  sent  er  angel  in  de 
night,  he  did,  an'  struck  her  plum'  bald-headed." 

"  You  ain't  none  o'  my  mother,"  replied  Dumps.  "  You're 
mos'  black  ez  my  shoes  ;  an'  de  Lord  ain't  er  goin'  ter  pull 
all  my  hair  offjes  'boutn  you." 

"  I  gwine  right  down-sta'rs  an'  tell  yer  ma,"  said  Mam- 
my. "  She  don't  'low  none  o'  you  chil'en  fur  ter  sass  me, 
an'  ter  call  me  brack ;  she  nuver  done  it  herse'f,  wen  she 
wuz  little.  Fse  got  ter  be  treated  wid  'spec  myse'f;  ef  I 
don't,  den  hit's  time  fur  me  ter  quit  min'en  chil'en :  I 
gwine  tell  yer  ma." 

And  Mammy  left  the  room  in  high  dudgeon,  but  pres- 
ently came  back,  and  said  Dumps  was  to  go  to  her  mother 
at  once. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  my  little  daughter?"  asked 
her  father,  as  she  came  slowly  down-stairs,  crying  bitterly, 
and  met  him  in  the  hall. 

"  Mammy's  ben  er  sa-a-as-sin  me,"  sobbed  Dumps ;  "  an' 
she  sa-aid  de  Lord  wuz  goin'  ter  sen'  an  angel  fur  ter  git 
my  ha-air,  an'  she  won't  lem'me  go-o-o  ter  see  de  spec-ec- 
ec-erlaters." 

"  Well,  come  in  mamma's  room,"  said  her  father,  "  and 
we'll  talk  it  all  over." 

And  the  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  Major  Waldron. 
said  he  would  himself  take  the  children  to  the  speculator's 
camp ;  and  accordingly,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  they 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  97 

little  boy,  me  an'  Dumps  an'  Tot,  an'  I'll  give  'im  some  of 
my  marbles." 

"  An'  my  little  painted  wagin,"  put  in  Dumps. 

"An'  you  shall  live  with  us  always,"  continued  Diddie; 
"  an'  Mammy'll  put  yer  feet  into  hot  water,  an'  rub  tur- 
kentine  on  yer  ches',  an'  give  yer  '  fermifuge  '  ev'y  mornin', 
an'  you'll  soon  be  well.  Papa,  sha'n't  she  go  home  with 
us?" 

Major  Waldron's  own  eyes  moistened  as  he  answered, 

"  We  will  see  about  it,  my  daughter ;"  and,  telling  the 
woman,  whose  name  was  Ann,  that  he  would  see  her 
again,  he  left  the  tent,  and  presently  the  camp. 

That  night,  after  the  little  folks  were  asleep,  Major  Wal- 
dron  and  his  wife  had  a  long  talk  about  the  sick  wom- 
an and  her  little  boy,  and  it  was  decided  between  them 
that  Major  Waldron  should  go  the  next  morning  and  pur- 
chase them  both. 

The  children  were  delighted  when  they  knew  of  this  de- 
cision, and  took  an  active  part  in  preparing  one  room  of 
the  laundry  for  Ann's  reception.  Their  mother  had  a 
plain  bedstead  moved  in,  and  sent  down  from  the  house  a 
bed  and  mattress,  which  she  supplied  with  sheets,  pillows, 
blankets,  and  a  quilt.  Then  Uncle  Nathan,  the  carpen- 
ter, took  a  large  wooden  box  and  put  shelves  in  it,  and 
tacked  some  bright-colored  calico  all  around  it,  and  made 
a  bureau.     Two  or  three  chairs  were  spared  from  the 


98  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

nursery,  and  Diddie  put  some  of  her  toys  on  the  mantel* 
piece  for  the  baby ;  and  then,  when  they  had  brought  in 
a  little  square  table  and  covered  it  with  a  neat  white 
cloth,  and  placed  upon  it  a  mug  of  flowers,  and  when 
Uncle  Nathan  had  put  up  some  shelves  in  one  corner  of 
the  room,  and  driven  some  pegs  to  hang  clothes  on,  they 
pronounced  the  room  all  ready. 

And  Ann,  who  had  lived  for  several  months  in  the 
camp,  was  delighted  with  her  new  home  and  the  prepa- 
rations that  her  little  mistresses  had  made  for  her.  The 
baby,  too,  laughed  and  clapped  his  hands  over  the  toys 
the  children  gave  him.  His  name  was  Henry,  and  a  very 
pretty  child  he  was.  He  was  almost  as  white  as  Tot,  and 
his  black  hair  curled  in  ringlets  all  over  his  head ;  but, 
strange  to  say,  neither  he  nor  his  mother  gained  favor  with 
the  negroes  on  the  place. 

Mammy  said  openly  that  she  "  nuver  had  no  'pinion  uv 
wite  niggers,"  and  that  "  marster  sholy  had  niggers  'nuff 
fur  ter  wait  on  'im  doutn  buyen  'em." 

But,  for  all  that,  Ann  and  her  little  boy  were  quite 
happy.  She  was  still  sick,  and  could  never  be  well, 
for  she  had  consumption ;  though  she  got  much  better, 
and  could  walk  about  the  yard,  and  sit  in  front  of  her 
door  with  Henry  in  her  lap.  Her  devotion  to  her 
baby  was  unusual  in  a  slave ;  she  could  not  bear  to 
have   him   out   of  her  sight,  and   never   seemed  happy 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  99 

unless  he  was  playing  around  her  or  nestling  in  her 
arms. 

Mrs.  Waldron,  of  course,  never  exacted  any  work  of 
Ann.  They  had  bought  her  simply  to  give  her  a  home 
and  take  care  of  her,  and  faithfully  that  duty  was  per- 
formed. Her  meals  were  carried  from  the  table,  and  she 
had  every  attention  paid  to  her  comfort. 

One  bright  evening,  when  she  was  feeling  better  than 
usual,  she  went  out  for  a  walk,  and,  passing  Uncle  Snake- 
bit  Bob's  shop,  she  stopped  to  look  at  his  baskets,  and  to 
let  little  Henry  pick  up  some  white-oak  splits  that  he 
seemed  to  have  set  his  heart  on. 

The  old  man,  like  all  the  other  negroes,  was  indignant 
that  his  master  should  have  purchased  her;  for  they  all 
prided  themselves  on  being  inherited,  and  "didn't  want  no 
bought  folks"  among  them.  He  had  never  seen  her,  and 
now  would  scarcely  look  at  or  speak  to  her. 

"You  weave  these  very  nicely,"  said  Ann,  examining 
one  of  his  baskets.  Uncle  Bob  looked  up,  and,  seeing  she 
was  pale  and  thin,  offered  her  a  seat,  which  she  accepted. 

"  Is  this  always  your  work  ?"  asked  Ann,  by  way  of  open- 
ing a  conversation  with  the  old  man. 

"  In  cose  'tis,"  he  replied  ;  "  who  dat  gwine  ter  make  de 
baskits  les'n  hit's  me?  I  done  make  baskits  'fo  mistiss 
wuz  born ;  I  usen  ter  'long  ter  her  pa ;  I  ain't  no  bort 
nigger  myse'f/' 


ioo  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot 

"  You  are  certainly  very  fortunate,"  answered  Ann, 
"  for  the  slave  that  has  never  been  on  the  block  can  never 
know  the  full  bitterness  of  slavery." 

"  Wy,  yer  talkin'  same  ez  wite  folks,"  said  Uncle  Bob. 
:'  Whar  yer  git  all  dem  fine  talkin's  fum  ?  ain't  you  er  nig- 
ger same  ez  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  negress,  Uncle  Bob ;  or,  rather,  my  moth- 
er was  a  slave,  and  I  was  born  in  slavery ;  but  I  have  had 
the  misfortune  to  have  been  educated." 

"  Kin  yer  read  in  de  book  ?"  asked  the  old  man  earnestly. 

"  Oh  yes,  as  well  as  anybody." 

"Who  showed  yer?"  asked  Uncle  Bob. 

"  My  mistress  had  me  taught ;  but,  if  it  won't  bother 
you,  I'll  just  tell  you  all  about  it,  for  I  want  to  get  your 
interest,  Uncle  Bob,  and  gain  your  love,  if  I  can — yours, 
and  everybody's  on  the  place — for  I  am  sick,  and  must  die, 
and  I  want  to  make  friends,  so  they  will  be  kind  to  my 
baby.     Shall  I  tell  you  my  story?" 

The  old  man  nodded  his  head,  and  went  on  with  his 
work,  while  Ann  related  to  him  the  sad  history  of  her  life. 

"  My  mother,  who  was  a  favorite  slave,  died  when  I 
was  born ;  and  my  mistress,  who  had  a  young  baby  only 
a  few  days  older  than  myself,  took  me  to  nurse.  I  slept, 
during  my  infancy,  in  the  cradle  with  my  little  mistress, 
and  afterwards  in  the  room  with  her,  and  thus  we  grew  up 
as  playmates  and  companions  until  we  reached  our  sev 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot  101 

enth  year,  when  we  both  had  scarlet  fever.  My  little 
mistress,  who  was  the  only  child  of  a  widow,  died ;  and 
her  mother,  bending  over  her  death-bed,  cried, '  I  will  have 
no  little  daughter  now !'  when  the  child  placed  her  arms 
about  her  and  said,  '  Mamma,  let  Ann  be  your  daughter ; 
she'll  be  your  little  girl ;  I'll  go  to  her  mamma,  and  she'll 
stay  with  my  mamma.' 

"  And  from  that  time  I  was  no  more  a  slave,  but  a  child 
in  the  house.  My  mistress  brought  a  governess  for  me 
from  the  North,  and  I  was  taught  as  white  girls  are.  I 
was  fond  of  my  books,  and  my  life  was  a  very  happy  one, 
though  we  lived  on  a  lonely  plantation,  and  had  but  little 
company. 

"  I  was  almost  white,  as  you  see,  and  my  mistress  had 
taught  me  to  call  her  mamma.  I  was  devoted  to  her,  and 
very  fond  of  my  governess,  and  they  both  petted  me  as  if 
I  really  had  been  a  daughter  instead  of  a  slave.  Four 
years  ago  the  brother  of  my  governess  came  out  from 
Vermont  to  make  his  sister  a  visit  at  our  home.  He  fell 
in  love  with  me,  and  I  loved  him  dearly,  and,  accompa- 
nied by  my  'mamma'  and  his  sister,  we  went  into  Penn- 
sylvania, and  were  married.  You  know  we  could  not  be 
married  in  Maryland,  for  it  is  a  Slave  State,  and  I  was  a 
slave.  My  mistress  had,  of  course,  always  intended  that  I 
should  be  free,  but  neglected  from  time  to  time  to  draw 
up  the  proper  papers. 


102  Diddle,  Dumps,  mid  Tot. 

"  For  two  years  after  my  marriage  my  husband  and 
I  lived  on  the  plantation,  he  managing  the  estate  until 
he  was  called  to  Washington  on  business,  and,  in  return- 
ing, the  train  was  thrown  down  an  embankment,  and  he 
was  among  the  killed. 

"  Soon  after  that  my  baby  was  born,  and  before  he  was 
six  months  old  my  mistress  died  suddenly,  when  it  was 
found  that  the  estate  was  insolvent,  and  everything  must 
be  sold  to  pay  the  debts ;  and  I  and  my  baby,  with  the 
other  goods  and  chattels,  were  put  up  for  sale.  Mr.  Mar- 
tin, the  speculator,  bought  me,  thinking  I  would  bring  a 
fancy  price  ;  but  my  heart  was  broken,  and  I  grieved  until 
my  health  gave  way,  so  that  nobody  ever  wanted  me, 
until  your  kind-hearted  master  bought  me  to  give  me  a 
home  to  die  in.  But  oh,  Uncle  Bob,"  she  continued, 
bursting  into  tears,  "to  think  my  boy,  my  baby,  must  be 
a  slave!  His  father's  relatives  are  poor.  He  had  only  a 
widowed  mother  and  two  sisters.  They  are  not  able  to 
buy  my  child,  and  he  must  be  raised  in  ignorance,  to  do 
another's  bidding  all  his  life,  my  poor  little  baby !  His 
dear  father  hated  slavery,  and  it  seems  so  hard  that  his 
son  must  be  a  slave !" 

"  Now  don't  yer  take  on  like  dat,  er  makin'  uv  yerse'f 
sick,"  said  Uncle  Bob ;  "  I  know  wat  I  gwine  do ;  my 
min'  hit's  made  up  ;  hit's  true,  I'm  brack,  but  den  my 
min'  hit's  made  up.     Now  you  go  on  back  ter  de  house, 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  105 

outn  dis  damp  a'r,  an'  tuck  cyar  er  yerse'f,  an'  don't  yer 
be  er  frettin',  nuther,  caze  my  marster,  he's  de  bes'  man 
dey  is ;  an'  den,  'sides  dat,  my  min'  hit's  made  up.  Hyear, 
honey,"  addressing  the  child,  "  take  deze  hyear  wite-oak 
splits  an'  go'n  make  yer  er  baskit  'long  o'  yer  ma." 

Ann  and  her  baby  returned  to  the  house,  but  Uncle 
Snake-bit  Bob,  long  after  the  sun  went  down,  still  sat  on 
his  little  bench  in  front  of  his  shop,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands ;  and  when  it  grew 
quite  dark  he  rose,  and  put  away  his  splits  and  his  bas- 
kets, saying  to  himself, 

"  Well,  I  know  wat  I'm  gwine  do ;  my  min',  hit's  made 
up." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

UNCLE   BOB'S   PROPOSITION. 

THE  night  after  Ann's  interview  with  Uncle  Bob, 
Major  Waldron  was  sitting  in  his  library  overlook- 
ing some  papers,  when  some  one  knocked  at  the  door, 
and,  in  response  to  his  hearty  "  Come  in,"  Uncle  Snake- 
bit  Bob  entered. 

"  Ebenin'  ter  yer,  marster,"  said  the  old  man,  scraping 
his  foot  and  bowing  his  head. 

"  How  are  you,  Uncle  Bob  ?"  responded  his  master. 

"  I'm  jes  po'ly,  thank  God,"  replied  Uncle  Bob,  in  the 
answer  invariably  given  by  Southern  slaves  to  the  que- 
ry "  How  are  you  ?"  No  matter  if  they  were  fat  as 
seals,  and  had  never  had  a  day's  sickness  in  their  lives, 
the  answer  was  always  the  same  —  "I'm  po'ly,  thank 
God." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Bob,  what  is  it  now  ?"  asked  Major  Wal- 
dron. "  The  little  negroes  been  bothering  your  splits 
again  ?" 

"  Dey's  all  de  time  at  dat,  marster,  an'  dey  gwine  git 


Diddie,  Dumps,  a?id  Tot.  107 

hurt,  nwir,  *f  dey  fool  long  o'  me  ;  but  den  dat  ain't  vvat  I 
come  fur  dis  time.  I  come  fur  ter  hab  er  talk  wid  yer,  sar, 
ef  yer  kin  spar  de  ole  nigger  de  time." 

"  There's  plenty  of  time,  Uncle  Bob  ;  take  a  seat,  then, 
if  we  are  to  have  a  talk  ;"  and  Major  Waldron  lit  his  cigar, 
and  leaned  back,  while  Uncle  Bob  seated  himself  on  a  low 
chair,  and  said : 

"  Marster,  I  come  ter  ax  yer  wat'll  yer  take  fur  dat  little 
boy  yer  bought  fum  de  specerlaters  ?" 

"Ann's  little  boy?"  asked  his  master;  "why,  I  would 
not  sell  him  at  all.  I  only  bought  him  because  his  mother 
was  dying  of  exposure  and  fatigue,  and  I  wanted  to  relieve 
her  mind  of  anxiety  on  his  account.  I  would  certainly 
never  sell  her  child  away  from  her." 

"  Yes,  sar,  dat's  so,"  replied  the  old  man ;  "  but  den 
my  min',  hit's  made  up.  I've  laid  me  up  er  little  money 
fum  time  ter  time,  wen  I'd  be  er  doct'in'  uv  hosses  an' 
mules  an'  men'in'  cheers,  an'  all  sich  ez  dat ;  de  folks  dey 
pays  me  lib'ul ;  an',  let  erlone  dat,  I'm  done  mighty  well 
wid* my  taters  an'  goobers,  er  sellin'  uv  'em  ter  de  steam- 
boat han's,  wat  takes  'em  ter  de  town,  an'  'sposes  uv  'em. 
So  I'm  got  er  right  smart  chance  uv  money  laid  up,  sar; 
an'  now  I  wants  ter  buy  me  er  nigger,  same  ez  wite  folks, 
fur  ter  wait  on  me  an'  bresh  my  coat  an'  drive  my  ker- 
ridge;  an'  I  'lowed  ef  yer'd  sell  de  little  wite  nigger,  I'd 
buy  'im,"  and  Uncle  Bob  chuckled  and  laughed. 


108  Diddie>  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Why,  Bob,  I  believe  you  are  crazy,"  said  his  master, 
"  or  drunk." 

"I  ain't  neder  one,  marster;  but  den  I'm  er  jokin'  too 
much,  mo'n  de  'lenity  uv  de  cazhun  inquires,  an'  now  I'll 
splain  de  facks,  sar." 

And  Uncle  Bob  related  Ann's  story  to  his  master,  and 
wound  up  by  saying: 

"  An'  now,  marster,  my  min\  hit's  made  up.  I  wants  ter 
buy  de  little  chap,  an'  give  'im  ter  his  mammy,  de  one  wat 
God  give  'im  to.  Hit'll  go  mighty  hard  wid  me  ter  part 
fum  all  dat  money,  caze  I  ben  years  pun  top  er  years  er 
layin'  uv  it  up,  an'  hit's  er  mighty  cumfut  ter  me  er  countin' 
an'  er  jinglin'  uv  it ;  but  hit  ain't  doin'  nobody  no  good  er 
buried  in  de  groun*;  an*  I  don't  special  need  it  myse'f, 
caze  you  gives  me  my  does,  an'  my  shoes,  an'  my  eatin's, 
an'  my  backer,  an'  my  wisky,  an*  I  ain't  got  no  cazhun  fur 
ter  spen'  it ;  an',  let  erlone  dat,  I  can't  stay  hyear  fureber, 
er  countin'  an'  er  jinglin'  dat  money,  caze  wen  de  angel 
soun'  dat  horn,  de  ole  nigger  he's  got  ter  go ;  he's  boun' 
fur  ter  be  dar !  de  money  can't  hoi'  'im !  De  Lord,  he  ain't 
gwine  ter  say, '  Scuze  dat  nigger,  caze  he  got  money  piled 
up ;  lef  'im  erlone,  fur  ter  count  dat  gol'  an'  silver.'  No, 
sar !  But,  marster,  maybe  in  de  jedgemun'  day,  wen  Ole 
Bob  is  er  stan'in'  fo'  de  Lord  wid  his  knees  er  trim'lin',  an' 
de  angel  fotches  out  dat  book  er  hisn,  an'  de  Lord  tell  'im 
fur  ter  read  wat  he  writ  gins  'im,  an'  de  angel  he  'gin  ter 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  iog 

read  how  de  ole  nigger  drunk  too  much  wisky,  how  he 
stoled  watermillions  in  de  night,  how  he  cussed,  how  he 
axed  too  much  fur  doct'in'  uv  hosses,  an'  wen  he  wuz  men'- 
in'  cheers,  how  he  wouldn't  men*  'em  strong,  so's  he'd  git 
ter  men'  'em  ergin  some  time ;  an'  den,  wen  he  read  all 
dat  an*  shet  de  book,  maybe  de  Lord  he'll  say, '  Well,  he's 
er  pow'ful  sinful  nigger,  but  den  he  tuck  his  money,  he 
did,  an'  buy'd  de  little  baby  fur  ter  give  'im  ter  his  mam- 
my, an'  I  sha'n't  be  too  hard  on  'im. 

u  Maybe  he'll  say  dat,  an*  den  ergin  maybe  he  won't. 
Maybe  he'll  punish  de  ole  nigger  ter  de  full  stent  uv  his 
'greshuns ;  an*  den,  ergin,  maybe  he'll  let  him  off  light ; 
but  dat  ain't  neder  hyear  nur  dar.  What'll  yer  take  fur  de 
baby,  caze  my  min'  hit's  made  up  ?" 

"  And  mine  is  too,  Uncle  Bob,"  said  his  master,  rising, 
and  grasping  in  his  the  big  black  hand.  "  Mine  is  too.  I 
will  give  Ann  her  freedom  and  her  baby,  and  the  same 
amount  of  money  that  you  give  her;  that  will  take  her  to 
her  husband's  relatives,  and  she  can  die  happy,  knowing 
that  her  baby  will  be  taken  care  of." 

The  next  day  Uncle  Bob  dug  up  his  money,  and  the 
bag  was  found  to  contain  three  hundred  dollars. 

His  master  put  with  it  a  check  for  the  same  amount, 
and  sent  him  into  the  laundry  to  tell  Ann  of  her  good 
fortune. 

The  poor  woman  was  overcome  with  happiness  and 


1 1  o  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

gratitude,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around  Uncle  Bobs  she 
sobbed  and  cried  on  his  shoulder. 

She  wrote  at  once  to  her  husband's  relatives,  and  a  few 
weeks  after  Major  Waldron  took  her  to  New  Orleans,  had 
the  requisite  papers  drawn  up  for  her  freedom,  and  accom- 
panied her  on  board  of  a  vessel  bound  for  New  York ;  and 
then,  paying  her  passage  himself,  so  that  she  might  keep 
her  money  for  future  emergencies,  he  bade  adieu  to  the 
only  slaves  he  ever  bought. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

AUNT   EDY'S    STORY. 

AUNT  EDY  was  the  principal  laundress,  and  a  great 
favorite  she  was  with  the  little  girls.  She  was  nev- 
er too  busy  to  do  up  a  doll's  frock  or  apron,  and  was 
always  glad  when  she  could  amuse  and  entertain  them. 
One  evening  Dumps  and  Tot  stole  off  from  Mammy,  and 
ran  as  fast  as  they  could  clip  it  to  the  laundry,  with  a 
whole  armful  of  their  dollies'  clothes,  to  get  Aunt  Edy  to 
let  them  "  iun  des  er  'ittle,"  as  Tot  said. 

"  Lemme  see  wat  yer  got,"  said  Aunt  Edy ;  and  they 
spread  out  on  the  table  garments  of  worsted  and  silk  and 
muslin  and  lace  and  tarlatan  and  calico  and  homespun, 
just  whatever  their  little  hands  had  been  able  to  gather  up. 

"  Lor',  chil'en,  ef  yer  washes  deze  fine  close  yer'll  ruint 

'em,"  said  Aunt  Edy,  examining  the  bundles  laid  out ; 

"  de  suds'll  tuck  all  de  color  out'n  'em ;  s'posin'  yer  jes 

press  'em  out  on  de  little  stool  ober  dar  wid  er  nice  cole 

iun." 

"Yes,  that's  the  very  thing,"  said  Dumps;  and  Aunt 
8 


H2  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

Edy  folded  some  towels,  and  laid  them  on  the  little  stools, 
and  gave  each  of  the  children  a  cold  iron.  And,  kneeling 
down,  so  as  to  get  at  their  work  conveniently,  the  little 
girls  were  soon  busy  smoothing  and  pressing  the  things 
they  had  brought. 

"  Aunt  Edy,"  said  Dumps,  presently,  "  could'n  yer  tell 
us  'bout  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O?" 

"  Dar  now !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Edy;  "  dem  chil'en  nuber 
is  tierd  er  hyearn'  dat  tale ;  pyears  like  dey  like  hit  mo' 
an'  mo'  eb'y  time  dey  hyears  hit ;"  and  she  laughed  slyly, 
for  she  was  the  only  one  on  the  plantation  who  knew  about 
"  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O,"  and  she  was  pleased  because  it  was 
such  a  favorite  story  with  the  children. 

"  Once  pun  er  time,"  she  began,  "  dar  wuz  er  bird  name' 
Nancy  Jane  O,  an'  she  wuz  guv  up  ter  be  de  swif'es'- 
fiy'n  thing  dar  wuz  in  de  a'r.  Well,  at  dat  time  de  king 
uv  all  de  fishes  an'  birds,  an'  all  de  little  beas'es,  like 
snakes  an'  frogs  an'  wums  an'  tarrypins  an'  bugs,  an'  all 
sich  ez  dat,  he  wur  er  mole  dat  year !  an'  he  wuz  blin'  in 
bof  'is  eyes,  jes  same  like  any  udder  mole  ;  an',  somehow, 
he  had  hyearn  some  way  dat  dar  wuz  er  little  bit  er  stone 
name'  de  gol'-stone,  way  off  fum  dar,  in  er  muddy  crick, 
an'  ef 'n  he  could  git  dat  stone,  an'  hoi'  it  in  his  mouf,  he 
could  see  same  ez  anybody. 

"  Den  he  'gun  ter  steddy  how  wuz  he  fur  ter  git  dat 
stone. 


Viddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  113 

"  He  stedded  an'  he  steddcd,  an'  pyeard  like  de  mo'  he 
stedded  de  mo'  he  couldn'  fix  no  way  fur  ter  git  it.  He 
knowed  he  wuz  blin',  an'  he  knowed  he  trab'l  so  slow  dat 
he  'lowed  'twould  be  years  pun  top  er  years  befo'  he'd  git 
ter  de  crick,  an'  so  he  made  up  in  'is  min'  dat  he'd  let  some- 
body git  it  fur  'im.  Den,  bein'  ez  he  wuz  de  king,  an' 
could  grant  any  kin'  er  wush,  he  sont  all  roun'  thu  de  kentry 
eb'ywhar,  an'  'lowed  dat  any  bird  or  fish,  or  any  kin'  er 
little  beas'  dat  'oud  fotch  'im  dat  stone,  he'd  grant  'em  de 
deares'  wush  er  dey  hearts. 

"  Well,  mun,  in  er  few  days  de  whole  yearth  wuz  er 
movin' ;  eb'ything  dar  wuz  in  de  Ian'  wuz  er  gwine. 

"  Some  wuz  er  hoppin'  an'  some  wuz  er  crawlin'  an' 
some  wuz  er  flyin',  jes  'cord'n  to  dey  natur' ;  de  birds  dey 
'lowed  ter  git  dar  fus',  on  'count  er  fly'n  so  fas' ;  but  den 
de  little  stone  wuz  in  de  water,  an'  dey'd  hatter  wait  till 
de  crick  run  down,  so  'twuz  jes  'bout  broad  ez  'twuz  long. 

"  Well,  wile  dey  wuz  all  er  gwine,  an'  de  birds  wuz  in 
de  lead,  one  day  dey  hyeard  sump'n  gwine  f-1-u-shsh — 
f-1-u-shsh — an'  sump'n  streaked  by  like  lightnin',  and  dey 
look  way  erhead,  dey  did,  an'  dey  seed  Nancy  Jane  O. 
Den  dey  hearts  'gun  ter  sink,  an'  dey  gin  right  up,  caze  dey 
knowed  she'd  outfly  eb'ything  on  de  road.  An'  by'mby 
de  crow,  wat  wuz  allers  er  cunnin'  bird,  sez, '  I  tell  yer  wat 
we'll  do  ;  we'll  all  gin  er  feas','  sezee,  'an'  git  Nancy  Jane  O 
ter  come,  an'  den  we'll  all  club  togedder  an'  tie  her,"  sezee. 


H4  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Dat  took  dey  fancy,  an'  dey  sont  de  lark  on  erhead  fur 
ter  cotch  up  wid  Nancy  Jane  O,  an'  ter  ax  'er  ter  de  feas'. 
Well,  mun,  de  lark  he  nearly  kill  hese'f  er  flyin'.  He  flew 
an'  he  flew  an'  he  flew,  but  pyear'd  like  de  fas'er  he  went 
de  furder  erhead  wuz  Nancy  Jane  O. 

"  But  Nancy  Jane  0,  bein'  so  fur  er  start  uv  all  de  res', 
an'  not  er  dreamin'  'bout  no  kin'  er  develment,  she  'lowed 
she'd  stop  an'  take  er  nap,  an'  so  de  lark  he  come  up  wid 
'er,  wile  she  wuz  er  set'n  on  er  sweet-gum  lim',  wid  'er 
head  un'er  'er  wing.  Den  de  lark  spoke  up,  an',  sezee, 
'  Sis  Nancy  Jane  O,'  sezee, '  we  birds  is  gwinter  gin  er  big 
feas',  caze  we'll  be  sho'  ter  win  de  race  any  how,  an'  bein' 
ez  we've  flew'd  so  long  an'  so  fur,  wy  we're  gwine  ter  stop 
an'  res'  er  spell,  an'  gin  er  feas'.  An'  Brer  Crow  he  'lowed 
'twouldn'  be  no  feas'  'tall  les'n  you  could  be  dar ;  so  dey 
sont  me  on  ter  tell  yer  to  hoi'  up  tell  dey  come  :  dey's  done 
got  seeds  an'  bugs  an'  wums,  an'  Brer  Crow  he's  gwine  ter 
furnish  de  corn.' 

"  Nancy  Jane  O  she  'lowed  ter  herse'f  she  could  soon  git 
erhead  uv  'em  ergin,  so  she  'greed  ter  wait ;  an'  by'mby 
hyear  dey  come  er  flyin'.  An'  de  nex'  day  dey  gin  de 
feas' ;  an'  wile  Nancy  Jane  O  wuz  er  eatin'  an'  er  stuffin' 
herse'f  wid  wums  an'  seeds,  an'  one  thing  er  nudder,  de 
blue  jay  he  slope  up  behin'  'er,  an'  tied  'er  fas'  ter  er  little 
bush.  An'  dey  all  laft  an'  flopped  dey  wings ;  an'  sez  dey, 
'  Good-bye  ter  yer,  Sis  Nancy  Jane  O.     I  hope  yer'll  enjoy 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  115 

yerse'f,'  sez  dey ;  an'  den  dey  riz  up  an'  stretched  out  dey 
wings,  an'  away  dey  flewed. 

"  Wen  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  seed  de  trick  wat  dey  played 
her,  she  couldn'  hardly  stan'  still,  she  wuz  so  mad ;  an* 
she  pulled  an'  she  jerked  an'  she  stretched  ter  git  er 
loose,  but  de  string  wuz  so  strong,  an'  de  bush  wuz  so 
fum,  she  wuz  jes  er  was'en  'er  strengt'.  An'  den  she  sot 
down,  an'  she  'gun  ter  cry  ter  herse'f,  an'  ter  sing, 

"  '  Please  on-tie,  please  on-tie  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  ! 
Please  on-tie,  please  on-tie  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O !' 

"  An'  atter  er  wile  hyear  come  de  ole  bullfrog  Pigunawaya. 
He  sez  ter  hisse'f,  sezee,  "Wat's  dat  I  hyear?'  Den  he 
lis'en,  an'  he  hyear  sump'n  gwine, 

" '  Please  on-tie,  please  on-tie  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  !' 

an'  he  went  whar  he  hyeard  de  soun',  an'  dar  wuz  de  po* 
bird  layin'  down  all  tied  ter  de  bush. 

"  '  Umph  !'  says  Pigunawaya,  sezee,  '  Ain't  dis  Nancy 
Jane  O,  de  swif'es'-flyin'  bird  dey  is?'  sezee  ;  '  wat  ail  'long 
yer,  chile  ?  wat  yer  cryin'  'bout  ?'  An'  atter  Nancy  Jane  O 
she  up  an'  tol'  'im,  den  de  frog  sez: 

"  '  Now  look  er  yer ;  I  wuz  er  gwine  myse'f  ter  see  ef'n 
I  could'n  git  dat  gol'-stone ;  hit's  true  I  don't  stan'  much 
showin'  'long  o'  birds,  but  den  ef'n  eber  I  gits  dar,  wy  1 
kin  jes  jump  right  in  an'  fotch  up  de  stone  wile  de  birds 
is  er  waitin'  fur  de  crick  ter  run  down.     An'  now,  s'posin' 


1 1 6  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot 

I  wuz  ter  ontie  yer,  Nancy  Jane  O,  could  yer  tuck  me  on 
yer  back  an'  cyar  me  ter  de  crick?  an'  den  we'd  hab  de 
sho'  thing  on  de  gol'-stone,  caze  soon's  eber  we  git  dar,  I'll 
git  it,  an'  we'll  cyar  it  bof  tergedder  ter  de  king,  an'  den 
we'll  bof  git  de  deares'  wush-  uv  our  hearts.  Now  wat  yer 
say?  speak  yer  min'.  Ef'n  yer  able  an'  willin'  ter  tote  me 
fum  hyear  ter  de  crick,  I'll  ontie  yer ;  efn  yer  ain't,  den 
far  yer  well,  caze  I  mus'  be  er  gittin'  erlong.' 

"  Well,  Nancy  Jane  O,  she  stedded  an'  stedded  in  her 
min',  an'  by'mby  she  sez,  '  Brer  Frog,'  sez  she,  '  I  b'lieve 
I'll  try  yer ;  ontie  me,'  sez  she, '  an'  git  on,  an'  I'll  tuck  yer 
ter  de  crick.'  Den  de  frog  he  clum  on  her  back  an'  ontied 
her,  an'  she  flopped  her  wings  an'  started  off.  Hit  wuz 
mighty  hard  flyin'  wid  dat  big  frog  on  her  back ;  but  Nancy 
Jane  O  wuz  er  flyer,  mun,  yer  hyeard  me  !  an'  she  jes  lit 
right  out,  an'  she  flew  an'  she  flew,  an'  atter  er  wile  she 
got  in  sight  er  de  birds,  an'  dey  looked,  an'  dey  see  her 
comin',  an'  den  dey  'gun  ter  holler, 

"  •  Who  on-tied,  who  on-tied  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  ?' 

An'  de  frog  he  holler  back, 

"  •  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  hooo-hooo !' 

"Den,  gemmun,  yer  oughten  seed  dat  race;  dem  birds 
dey  done  dey  leb'l  bes',  but  Nancy  Jane  O,  spite  er  all  dey 
could  do,  she  gaint  on  'em,  an'  ole  Pigunawaya  he  sot  up 
dar,  an'  he  kep'  er  urg'n  an'  er  urg'n  Nancy  Jane  O. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  117 

"  '  Dat's  you  !'  sezee ;  '  git  erhead !'  sezee.  '  Now  we're 
gwine  it !'  sezee ;  an*  pres'nly  Nancy  Jane  O  shot  erhead 
clean  befo'  all  de  res' ;  an'  wen  de  birds  dey  seed  dat  de 
race  wuz  los',  den  dey  all  'gun  ter  holler, 

" '  Who  on-tied,  who  on-tied  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  ?' 

An'  de  frog,  he  turnt  roun',  he  did,  an'  he  wave  his  han' 
roun'  his  head,  an'  he  holler  back, 

" '  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  hooo-hooo !' 

"  Atter  Nancy  Jane  O  got  erhead  er  de  birds,  den  de 
hardes'  fiyin'  wuz  thu  wid  ;  so  she  jes  went  'long,  an'  went 
'long,  kin'  er  easy  like,  tell  she  got  ter  de  stone ;  an'  she  lit  on 
er'  simmon-bush  close  ter  de  crick,  an'  Pigunawaya  he  slipt 
off,  he  did,  an'  he  hist  up  his  feet,  an'  he  gin  er  jump,  kerchug 
he  went  down  inter  de  water;  an'  by'mby  hyear  he  come 
wid  de  stone  in  his  mouf.  Den  he  mount  on  Nancy  Jane 
O,  he  did ;  an',  mun,  she  wuz  so  proud,  she  an'  de  frog 
bof,  tell  dey  flew  all  roun'  an'  roun',  an'  Nancy  Jane  O, 
she  'gun  ter  sing, 

" '  Who  on-tied,  who  on-tied  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  ?' 
An'  de  frog  he  ans'er  back, 

"  '  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  hooo-hooo  !' 

"An'  wile  dey  wuz  er  singin'  an'  er  j'yin'  uv  deyselves, 
hyear  come  de  birds ;  an'  de  frog  he  felt  so  big,  caze  he'd 
got  de  stone,  tell  he  stood  up  on  Nancy  Jane  O's  back,  he  did, 
an'  he  tuck'n  shuck  dc  stone  at  de  birds,  an'  he  holler  at  'em, 


1 1 8  Diddie>  Dumps,  and  Tof. 

" '  O  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  hooo-hooo  !' 

An'  jes  ez  he  said  dat,  he  felt  hisse'f  slippin',  an'  dat  made 
him  clutch  on  ter  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O,  an'  down  dey  bof 
went  tergedder  kersplash,  right  inter  de  crick. 

"  De  frog  he  fell  slap  on  ter  er  big  rock,  an'  bust  his 
head  all  ter  pieces ;  an'  Po'  Nancy  Jane  O  sunk  down  in 
de  water  an'  got  drownded  ;  an'  dat's  de  een'." 

"  Did  the  king  get  the  stone,  Aunt  Edy  ?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  Wy  no,  chile ;  don't  yer  know  de  mole  he's  blin'  tell 
yit?  ef'n  he  could  er  got  dat  stone,  he  could  er  seen  out'n 
his  eyes  befo'  now.  But  I  ain't  got  no  time  ter  fool  'long 
er  you  chil'en.     I  mus'  git  marster's  shuts  done,  I  mus'." 

And  Aunt  Edy  turned  to  her  ironing-table,  as  if  she 
didn't  care  for  company  ;  and  Dumps  and  Tot,  seeing  that 
she  was  tired  of  them,  went  back  to  the  house,  Tot  singing, 

"Who  on-tied,  who  on-tied  Po'  Nanty  Dane  O  ?" 
and  Dumps  answering  back, 

"  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  Pig-un-a-wa-ya,  hooo-hooo !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

PLANTATION   GAMES. 

'  A  /T  AM  MY,  the  quarter  folks  are  goin'  ter  play  to- 
XVX   night;  can't  we  go  look  at  'em?"  pleaded  Diddie 
one  Saturday  evening,  as  Mammy  was  busy  sorting  out 
the  children's  clothes  and  putting  them  away. 

"  Yer  allers  want  ter  be  'long  er  dem  quarter-folks,"  said 
Mammy.     "  Dem  ain't  de  'soshuts  fur  you  chil'en." 

"We  don't  want  ter  'soshate  with  'em,  Mammy;  we 
only  want  ter  look  at  'em  play  '  Monkey  Moshuns'  and 
1  Lipto '  and  '  The  Lady  You  Like  Best,'  and  hear  Jim 
pick  the  banjo,  and  see  'em  dance  ;  can't  we  go?  PLEASE ! 
It's  warm  weather  now,  an'  er  moonshiny  night ;  can't  we 


go 


?" 


And  Diddie  placed  one  arm  around  Mammy's  neck, 
and  laid  the  other  little  hand  caressingly  on  her  cheek ; 
and  Mammy,  after  much  persuasion,  agreed  to  take 
them,  if  they  would  come  home  quietly  when  she  want- 
ed them  to. 

As  soon  as  the  little  girls  had  had  their  supper,  they  set 


120  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

out  for  the  quarters.  Dilsey  and  Chris  and  Riar,  of  course, 
accompanied  them,  though  Chris  had  had  some  difficulty 
in  joining  the  party.  She  had  come  to  grief  about  her 
quilt  patching,  having  sewed  the  squares  together  in  such 
a  way  that  the  corners  wouldn't  hit,  and  Mammy  had 
made  her  rip  it  all  out  and  sew  it  over  again,  and  had 
boxed  her  soundly,  and  now  said  she  shouldn't  go  with 
the  others  to  the  quarters ;  but  here  Dumps  interfered, 
and  said  Mammy  shouldn't  be  "  all  time  'posin'  on  Chris," 
and  she  went  down  to  see  her  father  about  it,  who  inter- 
ceded with  Mammy  so  effectually  that,  when  the  little 
folks  started  off,  Chris  was  with  them.  When  they  got  to 
the  open  space  back  of  Aunt  Nancy's  cabin,  and  which 
was  called  "  de  play-groun',"  they  found  that  a  bright  fire 
of  light-wood  knots  had  been  kindled  to  give  a  light,  and 
a  large  pile  of  pine-knots  and  dried  branches  of  trees  was 
lying  near  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  it  up.  Aunt  Nancy 
had  a  bench  moved  out  of  her  cabin  fcr  "  marster's  chil'en  " 
to  sit  on,  while  all  of  the  little  negroes  squatted  around  on 
the  ground  to  look  on.  These  games  were  confined  to  the 
young  men  and  women,  and  the  negro  children  were  not 
allowed  to  participate. 

Mammy,  seeing  that  the  children  were  safe  and  in  good 
hands,  repaired  to  "  Sis  Haly's  house,"  where  "  de  chu'ch 
membahs"  had  assembled  for  a  prayer-meeting. 

Soon  after  the  children  had  taken  their  seats,  the  young 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot  121 

folks  came  out  on  the  play-ground  for  a  game  of  Monkey 
Motions. 

They  all  joined  hands,  and  made  a  ring  around  one  who 
stood  in  the  middle,  and  then  began  to  dance  around  in  a 
circle,  singing, 

"  I  ac'  monkey  moshuns,  too-re-loo ; 
I  ac'  monkey  moshuns,  so  I  do ; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac' — 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  monkeys  ac'. 

"I  ac'  gemmun  moshuns,  too-re-loo; 
I  ac'  gemmun  moshuns,  so  I  do ; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac' — 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  gemmuns  ac'. 

"  I  ac'  lady  moshuns,  too-re-loo ; 
I  ac'  lady  moshuns,  so  I  do  ; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac'— 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  ladies  ac'. 

"  I  ac'  chil'en  moshuns,  too-re-loo ; 
I  ac'  chil'en  moshuns,  so  I  do ; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac' — 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  chil'ens  ac'. 

"  I  ac'  preacher  moshuns,  too-re-loo ; 
I  ac'  preacher  moshuns,  so  I  do; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac' — 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  preachers  ac'. 

'■''  I  ac'  nigger  moshuns,  too-re-loo ; 
I  ac'  nigger  moshuns,  so  I  do ; 
I  ac'  'em  well,  an'  dat's  er  fac'— - 
I  ac'  jes  like  dem  niggers  ac'.'* 


122  Didiie,  Duntps ',  and  Tot. 

The  song  had  a  lively  air,  and  Jim  picked  the  accompa- 
niment on  the  banjo.  Many  of  the  negroes  had  good 
voices,  and  the  singing  was  indeed  excellent. 

While  the  dancers  were  singing  the  first  verse,  "  I  ac' 
monkey  moshuns,"  the  one  in  the  middle  would  screw  up 
his  face  and  hump  his  shoulders  in  the  most  grotesque 
manner,  to  represent  a  monkey. 

When  they  sang  "  I  ac'  gemmun  moshuns,"  he  would 
stick  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  take  a  walking-cane 
in  his  hand,  and  strut  back  and  forth,  to  represent  a  gen- 
tleman. 

In  the  "  lady  moshuns,"  he  would  take  little  mincing 
steps,  and  toss  his  head  from  side  to  side,  and  pretend 
to  be  fanning  with  his  hand. 

"  I  ac'  chil'en  moshuns"  was  portrayed  by  his  pouting 
out  his  lips  and  twirling  his  thumbs,  or  giggling  or  crying. 

When  they  sang  "  I  ac'  preacher  moshuns,"  he  straight- 
ened himself  back,  and  began  to  "  lay  off"  his  hands  in  the 
most  extravagant  gestures. 

"I  ac'  nigger  moshuns"  was  represented  by  scratching 
his  head,  or  by  bending  over  and  pretending  to  be  pick^ 
ing  cotton  or  hoeing. 

The  representation  of  the  different  motions  was  left 
entirely  to  the  taste  and  ingenuity  of  the  actor,  though  it 
was  the  rule  of  the  game  that  no  two  people  should  repre- 
sent the  same  character  in  the  same  way.     If  one  acted 


Diddle.  Dumps \  and  Tot.  123 

the  lady  by  a  mincing  walk,  the  next  one  must  devise 
some  other  manner  of  portraying  her,  such  as  sewing,  or 
playing  on  an  imaginary  piano,  or  giving  orders  to  ser- 
vants, or  anything  that  his  fancy  would  suggest. 

The  middle  man  or  woman  was  always  selected  for  his 
or  her  skill  in  taking  off  the  different  characters ;  and  when 
they  were  clever  at  it,  the  game  was  very  amusing  to  a 
spectator. 

After  one  or  two  games  of  "  Monkey  Moshuns,"  some 
one  proposed  they  should  play  "  Lipto,"  which  was  read- 
ily acceded  to. 

All  joined  hands,  and  formed  a  ring  around  one  in  the 
middle,  as  before,  and  danced  around,  singing, 

"  Lipto,  lipto,  jine  de  ring ; 
Lipto,  lipto,  dance  an'  sing ; 
Dance  an'  sing,  an'  laugh  an'  play, 
Fur  dis  is  now  er  holerday." 

Then,  letting  loose  hands,  they  would  all  wheel  around 
three  times,  singing, 

"  Turn  erroun'  an'  roun'  an'  roun' ;" 

then  they  would  clap  their  hands,  singing, 

"  Clap  yer  han's,  an'  make  'em  soun' ;" 
then  they  would  bow  their  heads,  singing, 

"  Bow  yer  heads,  an'  bow  'em  low ;" 

then,  joining  hands  again,  they  would  dance  around,  sing« 


124  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  'lot. 

"All  jine  han's,  an'  hyear  we  go." 

And  now  the  dancers  would  drop  hands  once  more,  and 
go  to  patting,  while  one  of  the  men  would  step  out  with  a 
branch  of  honeysuckle  or  yellow  jessamine,  or  something 
twined  to  form  a  wreath,  or  a  paper  cap  would  answer,  or 
even  one  of  the  boys'  hats — anything  that  would  serve  for 
i  crown  ;  then  he  would  sing. 

"  Lipto,  lipto — fi-yi-yi ; 
Lipto,  lipto,  hyear  am  I, 
Er  holdin'  uv  dis  goldin'  crown, 
An'  I  choose  my  gal  fur  ter  dance  me  down." 

Then  he  must  place  the  crown  on  the  head  of  any  girl  he 
chooses,  and  she  must  step  out  and  dance  with  him,  or, 
as  they  expressed  it,  "  set  to  him  "  (while  all  the  rest  pat- 
ted), until  one  or  the  other  "  broke  down,"  when  the  man 
stepped  back  in  the  ring,  leaving  the  girl  in  the  middle, 
when  they  all  joined  hands,  and  began  the  game  over 
again,  going  through  with  the  wheeling  around  and  clap- 
ping of  hands  and  the  bowing  of  heads  just  as  before; 
after  which  the  girl  would  choose  her  partner  for  a  "  set 
to,"  the  song  being  the  same  that  was  sung  by  the  man, 
with  the  exception  of  the  last  line,  which  was  changed  to 

"  An:  I  choose  my  man  fur  ter  dance  me  down." 

"  Lipto "  was  followed  by  "  De  One  I  Like  de  Bes\" 
which  was  a  kissing  game,  and  gave  rise  to  much  merri- 
ment.    It  was  played,  as  the  others  were,  by  the  dancers 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  125 

joining  hands  and  forming  a  ring,  with  some  one  in  the 
middle,  and  singing, 

"  Now  while  we  all  will  dance  an'  sing, 
O  choose  er  partner  fum  de  ring  j 
O  choose  de  lady  you  like  bes' ; 
O  pick  her  out  fum  all  de  res', 
Fur  her  hansum  face  an'  figur  neat ; 
O  pick  her  out  ter  kiss  her  sweet. 
O  walk  wid  her  erroun'  an'  roun' ; 
O  kneel  wid  her  upon  de  groun' ; 
O  kiss  her  once,  an'  one  time  mo' ; 
O  kiss  her  sweet,  an'  let  her  go. 
O  HP  her  up  fum  off  de  groun', 
An'  all  jine  han's  erroun'  an'  roun', 
An'  while  we  all  will  dance  an'  sing, 
O  choose  er  partner  fum  de  ring." 

At  the  words  "  choose  de  lady  you  like  bes'/'  the  middle 
man  must  make  his  selection,  and,  giving  her  his  hand, 
lead  her  out  of  the  ring.  At  the  words  "  walk  wid  her 
erroun'  an'  roun',''  he  offers  her  his  arm,  and  they  prom- 
enade ;  at  the  words  "  kneel  wid  her  upon  de  groun'," 
both  kneel ;  when  they  sing  "  Kiss  her  once,"  he  kisses 
her:  and  at  the  words  "  one  time  mo' "  the  kiss  is  repeat- 
ed ;  and  when  the  dancers  sing  "  Lif '  her  up  fum  off  de 
groun',''  he  assists  her  to  rise ;  and  when  they  sing  "  All 
jine  han's  erroun'  an'  roun',"  he  steps  back  into  the  ring, 
and  the  girl  must  make  a  choice,  the  dancers  singing, 
"  O  choose  de  gemmun  you  like  bes' ;"  and  then  the 
promenading  and  kneeling  and  kissing  were  all  gone 
through  with  again. 


126  Diddle*  Dumps,  and  ToL 

Some  of  the  girls  were  great  favorites,  and  were  chosen 
frequently;  while  others  not  so  popular  would  perhaps 
not  be  in  the  middle  during  the  game. 

"  De  One  I  Like  de  Bes' "  was  a  favorite  play,  and  the 
young  folks  kept  it  up  for  some  time,  until  some  one  sug- 
gested sending  for  "  Uncle  Sambo "  and  his  fiddle,  and 
turning  it  into  a  sure-enough  dance.  Uncle  Sambo  was 
very  accommodating,  and  soon  made  his  appearance, 
when  partners  were  taken,  and  an  Old  Virginia  reel 
formed.  The  tune  that  they  danced  by  was  "  Cotton- 
eyed  Joe,"  and,  the  words  being  familiar  to  all  of  their 
as  they  danced  they  sang, 

"Cotton-eyed  Joe,  Cotton-eyed  Joe, 
What  did  make  you  sarve  me  so, 
Fur  ter  take  my  gal  erway  fum  me, 
An'  cyar  her  plum  ter  Tennessee  ? 
Ef  it  hadn't  ben  fur  Cotton-eyed  Joe, 
I'd  er  been  married  long  ergo. 

"  His  eyes  wuz  crossed,  an'  his  nose  wuz  flat, 
An'  his  teef  wuz  out,  but  wat  uv  dat  ? 
Fur  he  wuz  tall,  an'  he  wuz  slim, 
An'  so  my  gal  she  follered  him. 
Ef  it  hadn't  ben  fur  Cotton-eyed  Joe, 
I'd  er  ben  married  long  ergo. 

"  No  gal  so  hansum  could  be  foun', 
Not  in  all  dis  country  roun', 
Wid  her  kinky  head,  an'  her  eyes  so  brights 
Wid  her  lips  so  red  an'  her  teef  so  white. 
Ef  it  hadn't  ben  fur  Cotton-eyed  Joe, 
I'd  er  been  married  long  ergo. 


Diddie,  Dimips,  and  Tot.  127 

"An'  I  loved  dat  gal  wid  all  my  heart, 
An'  she  swo'  mm  me  she'd  never  part ; 
But  den  wid  Joe  she  runned  away, 
An'  lef '  me  hyear  fur  ter  weep  all  day. 
O  Cotton-eyed  Joe,  O  Cotton-eyed  Joe, 
What  did  make  you  sarve  me  so  ? 
O  Joe,  ef  it  hadn't  er  ben  fur  you, 
I'd  er  married  dat  gal  fur  true." 

And  what  with  Uncle  Sambo's  fiddle  and  Jim's  banjo, 
and  all  of  those  fresh,  happy  young  voices,  the  music  was 
enough  to  make  even  the  church  members  want  to  dance. 

The  children  enjoyed  the  dancing  even  more  than  they 
had  the  playing,  and  Diddie  and  Dumps  and  Tot  and  all 
of  the  little  darkies  were  patting  their  hands  and  singing 
"  Cotton-eyed  Joe  "  at  the  very  top  of  their  voices,  when 
Mammy  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  said  it  was  time  to 
go  home. 

"  No,  Mammy,"  urged  Dumps;  "we  ain't  er  goin'  ter; 
we  want  ter  sing  '  Cotton-eyed  Joe  ;'  hit  ain't  late." 

"  Umph-humph  !  dat's  jes  wat  I  'lowed,"  said  Mammy. 
"  I  'lowed  yer  wouldn't  be  willin'  fur  ter  go,  er  set'n'  hyear 
an'  er  patt'n'  yer  han's  same  ez  niggers,  an'  er  singin'  uv  reel 
chunes ;  I  dunno  wat  makes  you  chil'en  so  onstrep'rous." 

"  Yes,  Dumps,  you  know  we  promised,"  said  Diddie, 
"  and  so  we  must  go  when  Mammy  tells  us." 

Dumps,  finding  herself  overruled,  had  to  yield,  and  they 
all  went  back  to  the  house,  talking  very  animatedly  of  the 
quarter  folks  and  their  plays  and  dances. 

0 


CHAPTER  XL 

DIDDIE   IN   TROUBLE. 

DIDDIE  was  generally  a  very  good  and  studious 
little  girl,  and  therefore  it  was  a  matter  of  surprise 
to  everybody  when  Miss  Carrie  came  down  to  dinner  one 
day  without  her,  and,  in  answer  to  Major  Waldron's  in- 
quiry concerning  her,  replied  that  Diddie  had  been  so 
wayward  that  she  had  been  forced  to  keep  her  in,  and 
that  she  was  not  to  have  any  dinner. 

Neither  Major  nor  Mrs.  Waldron  ever  interfered  with 
Iviiss  Carrie's  management,  so  the  family  sat  down  to  the 
meal,  leaving  the  little  girl  in  the  schoolroom. 

Dumps  and  Tot,  however,  were  very  indignant,  and  ate 
but  little  dinner ;  and,  as  soon  as  their  mamma  excused 
them,  they  ran  right  to  the  nursery  to  tell  Mammy  about 
it.  They  found  her  overhauling  a  trunk  of  old  clothes, 
with  a  view  of  giving  them  out  to  such  of  the  little  ne- 
groes as  they  would  fit ;  but  she  dropped  everything  after 
Dumps  had  stated  the  case,  and  at  once  began  to  expa- 
tiate on  the  tyranny  of  teachers  in  general,  and  of  Miss 
Carrie  in  particular. 


Diddie,  Dumps ,  and  Tot.  129 

"  I  know'd  how  'twould  be,"  she  said,  "  wen  marster 
fotch  her  hyear;  she  got  too  much  wite  in  her  eye  to 
suit  me,  er  shettin'  my  chile  up,  an'  er  starvin'  uv  her  ; 
I  ain't  got  no  'pinion  uv  po'  wite  folks,  nohow." 

"  Is  Miss  Carrie  po'  white  folks,  Mammy?"  asked  Dumps, 
in  horror,  for  she  had  been  taught  by  Mammy  and  Aunt 
Milly  both  that  the  lowest  classes  of  persons  in  the  world 
were  "  po'  white  folks"  and  "  free  niggers." 

"  She  ain't  no  rich  wite  folks,"  answered  Mammy,  eva- 
sively ;  "  caze  efn  she  wuz,  she  wouldn't  be  teachin'  school 
fur  er  livin' ;  an'  den  ergin,  efn  she's  so  mighty  rich,  whar's 
her  niggers?  I  neber  seed  'em.  An',  let  erlone  dat,  I 
ain't  neber  hyeard  uv  'em  yit ;"  for  Mammy  could  not 
conceive  of  a  person's  being  rich  without  niggers. 

"  But,  wedder  she's  rich  or  po',"  continued  the  old  lady, 
"  she  ain't  no  bizness  er  shettin'  up  my  chile ;  an'  marster, 
he  oughtn't  ter  'low  it." 

And  Mammy  resumed  her  work,  but  all  the  time  grum- 
bling, and  muttering  something  about  "  ole  maids  "  and 
"  po'  wite  folks." 

"  I  don't  like  her,  nohow,"  said  Dumps,  "  an'  I'm  glad 
me  an'  Tot's  too  little  ter  go  ter  school ;  I  don't  want  never 
to  learn  to  read  all  my  life.  An',  Mammy,  can't  you  go 
an'  turn  Diddie  erloose?" 

"  No,  I  can't,"  answered  Mammy.  "  Yer  pa  don't  'low 
me  fur  ter  do  it ;  he  won't  do  it  hisse'f,  an'  he  won't  let 


1 30  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

dem  do  it  wat  wants  ter.  I  dunno  wat's  gittin'  in  'im 
myse'f.  But,  you  chil'en,  put  on  yer  bunnits,  an'  run  an' 
play  in  de  yard  tell  I  fixes  dis  chis'  uv  does ;  an'  you  little 
niggers,  go  wid  'em,  an'  tuck  cyar  uv  'em ;  an'  ef  dem 
chil'en  git  hut,  yer'll  be  sorry  fur  it,  mun  ;  so  yer'd  better 
keep  em  ofif'n  seesaws  an'  all  sich  ez  dat." 

Dumps  and  Tot,  attended  by  their  little  maids,  went 
out  in  the  yard  at  Mammy's  bidding,  but  not  to  play; 
their  hearts  were  too  heavy  about  poor  little  Diddie,  and 
the  little  negroes  were  no  less  grieved  than  they  were,  so 
they  all  held  a  consultation  as  to  what  they  should  do. 

"  Le's  go  'roun'  ter  de  schoolroom  winder,  an'  talk  ter 
her,"  said  Dilsey.  And,  accordingly,  they  repaired  to  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  took  their  stand  under  the  school- 
room window.  The  schoolroom  was  on  the  first  floor, 
but  the  house  was  raised  some  distance  from  the  ground 
by  means  of  stone  pillars,  so  none  of  the  children  were  tall 
enough  to  see  into  the  room. 

Dilsey  called  Diddie  softly,  and  the  little  girl  appeared 
at  the  window. 

"  Have  you  said  your  lesson  yet  ?"  asked  Dumps, 

"  No,  an'  I  ain't  ergoin'  to,  neither,"  answered  Diddie. 

"  An'  yer  ain't  had  yer  dinner,  nuther,  is  yer,  Miss  Did- 
die ?"  asked  Dilsey. 

"  No ;  but  I  don't  care  'bout  that ;  I  sha'n't  say  my  l^s* 
son  not  ef  she  starves  me  clean  ter  death," 


Diddie,  Dumps ;  and  Tot.  1 31 

At  this  dismal  prospect,  the  tears  sprang  to  Tot's  eyes, 
and  saying,  "  I'll  dit  it,  Diddie ;  don'  yer  min',  I'll  dit  it," 
she  ran  as  fast  as  her  little  feet  could  carry  her  to  the 
kitchen,  and  told  Aunt  Mary,  the  cook,  that  "  Diddie  is  sut 
up ;  dey  lock  her  all  up  in  de  woom,  an'  s'e  neber  had  no 
dinner,  an'  s'e's  starve  mos'  ter  def.  Miss  Tawwy  done  it, 
an'  s'e's  des  ez  mean !"  Then,  putting  her  chubby  little 
arms  around  Aunt  Mary's  neck,  she  added,  "  Please  sen' 
Diddie  some  dinner." 

And  Aunt  Mary,  who  loved  the  children,  rose  from  the 
low  chair  on  which  she  was  sitting  to  eat  her  own  din- 
ner, and,  picking  out  a  nice  piece  of  fried  chicken  and  a 
baked  sweet  potato,  with  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  good 
slice  of  ginger  pudding,  she  put  them  on  a  plate  for  the 
child. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Douglas,  the  head  dining- 
room  servant,  was  also  in  the  kitchen  eating  his  dinner, 
and,  being  exceedingly  fond  of  Tot,  he  told  her  to  wait  a 
moment,  and  he  would  get  her  something  from  the  house. 
So,  getting  the  keys  from  Aunt  Delia,  the  housekeeper, 
on  pretence  of  putting  away  something,  he  buttered  two 
or  three  slices  of  light  bread,  and  spread  them  with  jam, 
and,  putting  with  them  some  thin  chips  of  cold  ham  and 
sereral  slices  of  cake,  he  carried  them  back  to  the  kitchen 
as  an  addition  to  Diddie's  dinner. 

Tot  was  delighted,  and  walked  very  carefully  with  the 


132  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

plate  until  she  joined  the  little  group  waiting  under  the 
window,  when  she  called  out,  joyfully, 

"  Hyear  'tis,  Diddie !  'tis  des  de  bes'es  kine  er  dinner!" 

And  now  the  trouble  was  how  to  get  it  up  to  Diddie. 

"I  tell  yer,"  said  Chris;  "men  Dilsey'll  fotch  de  step- 
ladder  wat  Uncle  Douglas  washes  de  winders  wid." 

No  sooner  said  than  done,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
step-ladder  was  placed  against  the  house,  and  Dilsey  pre- 
pared to  mount  it  with  the  plate  in  her  hand. 

But  just  at  this  juncture  Diddie  decided  that  she  would 
make  good  her  escape,  and,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
children,  she  climbed  out  of  the  window,  and  descend- 
ed the  ladder,  and  soon  stood  safe  among  them  on  the 
ground. 

Then,  taking  the  dinner  with  them,  they  ran  as  fast  as 
they  could  to  the  grove,  where  they  came  to  a  halt  on  the 
ditch  bank,  and  Diddie  seated  herself  on  a  root  of  a  tree 
to  eat  her  dinner,  while  Dumps  and  Tot  watched  the  little 
negroes  wade  up  and  down  the  ditch.  The  water  was 
very  clear,  and  not  quite  knee-deep,  and  the  temptation 
was  too  great  to  withstand  ;  so  the  little  girls  took  off  their 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  were  soon  wading  too. 

When  Diddie  had  finished  her  dinner,  she  joined  them  ; 
and  such  a  merry  time  as  they  had,  burying  their  little 
naked  feet  in  the  sand,  and  splashing  the  water  against 
each  other ! 


Diddie,  Durnps,  and  Tot.  133 

'*  I  tell  yer,  Diddie,"  said  Dumps,  "  I  don't  b'lieve  nuth- 
in'  'bout  bad  little  girls  gittin'  hurt,  an'  not  havin'  no  fun 
when  they  runs  away,  an'  don't  min'  nobody.  I  b'lieve 
Mammy  jes  makes  that  up  ter  skyeer  us." 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Diddie;  "you  'member  the 
time  'bout  Ole  Billy?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  er  countin'  him,"  said  Dumps;  "I  ain't  er 
countin'  no  sheeps;  I'm  jes  er  talkin'  'bout  ditches  an' 
things." 

And  just  then  the  little  girls  heard  some  one  singing, 

"  De  jay  bird  died  wid  de  hookin'-coff, 
Oh,  ladies,  ain't  yer  sorry  ?" 

and  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob  came  up  the  ditch  bank  with  an 
armful  of  white-oak  splits. 

"  Yer'd  better  git  outn  dat  water,"  he  called,  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  children.  "  Yer'll  all  be  havin'  de  croup  nex1. 
Git  out,  I  tell  yer !  Efn  yer  don't,  I  gwine  straight  an'  tell 
yer  pa." 

It  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  the  little  girls  scram- 
bled up  the  bank,  and,  drying  their  feet  as  best  they  could 
upon  their  skirts,  they  put  on  their  shoes  and  stockings. 

"What  are  you  doin',  Uncle  Bob?"  called  Diddie. 

"  I'm  jes  er  cuttin'  me  er  few  willers  fur  ter  make  bas- 
kit-handles  outn." 

"Can't  we  come  an'  look  at  yer?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Yes,  honey,  efn  yer  wants  ter,"  replied  Uncle  Bob, 


134  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

mightily  pleased.  "  You're  all  pow'ful  fon'  er  dis  ole  nig- 
ger; you're  allers  wantin'  ter  be  roun'  him." 

"  It's  'cause  you  always  tell  us  tales,  an'  don't  quar'l  with 
us,"  replied  Diddie,  as  the  children  drew  near  the  old 
man,  and  watched  him  cut  the  long  willow  branches. 

"  Uncle  Bob,"  asked  Dumps,  "  what  was  that  you  was 
singin*  'bout  the  jay  bird  ?" 

"  Lor',  honey,  hit  wuz  jes  'boutn  'im  dyin'  wid  de  hook- 
in'-coff;  but  yer  better  lef '  dem  jay  birds  erlone ;  yer  needn' 
be  er  wantin'  ter  hyear  boutn  'em." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Bob  ?" 

"  Caze,  honey,  dem  jay  birds  dey  cyars  news  ter  de  deb'l, 
dey  do ;  an'  yer  better  not  fool  'long  'em." 

"  Do  they  tell  him  everything?"  asked  Diddie,  in  some 
solicitude. 

"  Dat  dey  do  !  Dey  tells  'im  e'bything  dey  see  you 
do  wat  ain't  right ;  dey  cyars  hit  right  erlong  ter  de  deb'l." 

"  Uncle  Bob,"  said  Dumps,  thoughtfully,  "  s'posin'  they 
wuz  some  little  girls  1-o-n-g  time  ergo  what  stole  ernuther 
little  girl  outn  the  winder,  an'  then  run'd  erway,  an'  waded 
in  er  ditch,  what  they  Mammy  never  would  let  'em  ;  efn 
er  jay  bird  would  see  'em,  would  he  tell  the  deb'l  nuthin 
erbout  it  ?" 

"Lor',  honey,  dat  'ud  be  jes  nuts  fur  'im  ;  he'd  light  right 
out  wid  it ;  an'  he  wouldn't  was'e  no  time,  nuther,  he'd  be 
so  fyeard  he'd  furgit  part'n  it." 


Diddie^  Dumps ;  and  Tot.  137 

"  I  don't  see  none  'bout  hyear,"  said  Dumps,  looking 
anxiously  up  at  the  trees.  "  They  don't  stay  'bout  hyear 
much,  does  they,  Uncle  Bob?" 

"  I  seed  one  er  settin'  on  dat  sweet-gum  dar  ez  I  come 
up  de  ditch,"  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  He  had  his  head  turnt 
one  side,  he  did,  er  lookin'  mighty  hard  at  you  chil'en,  an' 
I  'lowed  ter  myse'f  now  I  won'er  wat  is  he  er  watchin' 
dem  chil'en  fur?  but,  den,  I  knowed  you  chil'en  wouldn't 
do  nuffin  wrong,  an'  I  knowed  he  wouldn't  have  nuffin  fur 
ter  tell." 

"  Don't  he  never  make  up  things  an'  tell  'em  ?"  asked 
Dumps. 

"  I  ain't  neber  hyeard  boutn  dat,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Efn  he  do,  or  efn  he  don't,  I  can't  say,  caze  I  ain't 
neber  hyeard ;  but  de  bes'  way  is  fur  ter  keep  'way  fum 
'em." 

"  Well,  I  bet  he  do,"  said  Dumps.  "  I  jes  bet  he  tells 
M-O-O-O-R-E  S-T-O-R-l-E-S  than  anybody.  An',  Uncle  Bob, 
efn  he  tells  the  deb'l  sump'n  'boutn  three  little  white  girls 
an'  three  little  niggers  runnin'  erway  fum  they  teacher  an' 
wadin'  in  er  ditch,  then  I  jes  b'lieve  he  made  it  up  !  Now 
that's  jes  what  I  b'lieve ;  an'  can't  you  tell  the  deb'l  so, 
Uncle  Bob?" 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  Umph,  umph  !  yer  talkin'  ter  de  wrong 
nigger  now,  chile  !  I  don't  hab  nuffin  te  do  wid  'im  mysef ! 
I'se  er  God-fyearn  nigger,  I  is ;  an',  let  erlone  dat,  I  keeps 


138  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

erway  fum  dem  jay  birds.  Didn'  yer  neber  hyear  wat  er 
trick  he  played  de  woodpecker?" 

"  No,  Uncle  Bob,"  answered  Diddie ;  "  what  did  he  do 
to  him  ?" 

"Ain't  yer  neber  hyeard  how  come  de  woodpecker's 
head  ter  be  red,  an'  wat  makes  de  robin  hab  er  red  breas'  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  'bout  the  robin's  breast,"  said  Diddie. 
"  When  the  Saviour  was  on  the  cross,  an'  the  wicked  men 
had  put  er  crown  of  thorns  on  him,  an'  his  forehead  was 
all  scratched  up  an'  bleedin',  er  little  robin  was  settin'  on 
er  tree  lookin'  at  him ;  an'  he  felt  so  sorry  'bout  it  till  he 
flew  down,  an*  tried  to  pick  the  thorns  out  of  the  crown ; 
an'  while  he  was  pullin'  at  'em,  one  of  'em  run  in  his 
breast,  an'  made  the  blood  come,  an'  ever  since  that  the 
robin's  breast  has  been  red." 

"  Well,  I  dunno,"  said  the  old  man,  thoughtfully,  scratch- 
ing his  head ;  "  I  dunno,  dat  mout  be  de  way ;  I  neber 
hyeard  it,  do ;  but  den  I  ain't  sayin'  tain't  true,  caze  hit 
mout  be  de  way ;  an'  wat  I'm  er  stan'in'  by  is  dis,  dat  dat 
ain't  de  way  I  hyeard  hit." 

"  Tell  us  how  you  heard  it,  Uncle  Bob,"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Well,  hit  all  come  'long  o'  de  jay  bird,"  said  Uncle 
Bob.  "  An'  efn  yer  got  time  fur  ter  go  'long  o'  me  ter  de 
shop,  an'  sot  dar  wile  I  plats  on  dese  baskits  fur  de  ober- 
seer's  wife,  I'll  tell  jes  wat  I  hyearn  'boutn  hit." 

Of  course  they  had  plenty  of  time,  and  they  all  followed 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  1 39 

him  to  the  shop,  where  he  turned  some  baskets  bottom- 
side  up  for  seats  for  the  children,  and,  seating  himself  on 
his  accustomed  stool,  while  the  little  darkies  sat  around 
on  the  dirt-floor,  he  began  to  weave  the  splits  dexterously 
in  and  out,  and  proceeded  to  tell  the  story. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

HOW  THE  WOODPECKER'S  HEAD  AND  THE  ROBIN'S  BREAST 
CAME  TO  BE  RED. 

""¥  ~X  T ELL,"  began  Uncle  Bob,  "hit  wuz  all  erlong  er 
\  \  de  jay  bird,  jes  ez  I  wuz  tellin'  yer.  Yer  see, 
Mr.  Jay  Bird  he  fell'd  in  love,  he  did,  'long  o'  Miss  Robin, 
an'  he  wuz  er  courtin'  her,  too ;  ev'y  day  de  Lord  sen', 
he'd  be  er  gwine  ter  see  her,  an'  er  singin'  ter  her,  an'  er 
cyarin'  her  berries  an'  wums ;  but,  somehow  or  udder, 
she  didn't  pyear  ter  tuck  no  shine  ter  him.  She'd  go  er 
walkin'  'long  'im,  an'  she'd  sing  songs  wid  'im,  an'  she'd 
gobble  up  de  berries  an'  de  wums  wat  he  fotch,  but  den 
w'en  hit  come  ter  marry'n  uv  'im,  she  wan't  dar. 

"  Well,  she  wouldn't  gib  'im  no  kin'  er  'couragement,  tell 
he  got  right  sick  at  his  heart,  he  did ;  an'  one  day,  ez  he 
wuz  er  settin'  in  his  nes'  an'  er  steddin  how  ter  wuck  on 
Miss  Robin  so's  ter  git  her  love,  he  hyeard  somebody  er 
laughin'  an'  talkin',  an'  he  lookt  out,  he  did,  an'  dar  wuz 
Miss  Robin  er  prumurradin'  wid  de  Woodpecker  An' 
wen  he  seed  dat,  he  got  pow'ful  mad,  an'  he  'low'd  ter  his- 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  141 

se'f  dat  efn  de  Lord  spar'd  him,  he  inten'  fur  ter  fix  dat 
Woodpecker. 

"  In  dem  times  de  Woodpecker's  head  wuz  right  black, 
same  ez  er  crow,  an'  he  had  er  topknot  on  'im  like  er  roos- 
ter. Gemmun,  he  wuz  er  han'sum  bird,  too.  See  'im  uv 
er  Sunday,  wid  his  '  go-ter-meetin' '  cloze  on,  an'  dar  wan't 
no  bird  could  totch  'im  fur  looks. 

"  Well,  he  an'  Miss  Robin  dey  went  on  by,  er  lafrin'  an' 
er  talkin'  wid  one  ernudder ;  an'  de  Jay  he  sot  dar,  wid 
his  head  turnt  one  side,  er  steddin  an'  er  steddin  ter  his- 
se'f ;  an'  by'mby,  atter  he  made  up  his  min',  he  sot  right 
ter  wuck,  he  did,  an'  he  fix  him  er  trap. 

"  He  got  'im  some  sticks,  an'  he  nailt  'em  cross'n  'is  do* 
same  ez  er  plank-fence,  only  he  lef '  space  'nuff  twix'  de 
bottum  stick  an'  de  nex'  one  fur  er  bird  ter  git  thu ;  den, 
stid  er  nailin'  de  stick  nex'  de  bottum,  he  tuck'n  prope  it 
up  at  one  een  wid  er  little  chip  fur  ter  hole  it,  an'  den  jes 
res'  tudder  een  'gins  de  side  er  de  nes'.  Soon's  eber  he 
done  dat,  he  crawlt  out  thu  de  crack  mighty  kyeerful,  I 
tell  yer,  caze  he  wuz  fyeared  he  mout  er  knock  de  stick 
down,  an'  git  his  own  se'f  cotch  in  de  trap ;  so  yer  hyeard 
me,  mun,  he  crawlt  thu  mighty  tick'ler. 

"  Atter  he  got  thu,  den  he  santer  'long,  he  did,  fur  ter 
hunt  up  de  Woodpecker  ;  an'  by'mby  he  hyeard  him  peck- 
in'  at  er  log ;  an'  he  went  up  ter  him  kin'  er  kyeerless,  an' 
he  sez, '  Good-mornin','  sezee ;  '  yer  pow'ful  busy  ter  day-' 


142  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Den  de  Woodpecker  he  pass  de  kempulmence  wid 
'im,  des  same  ez  any  udder  gemmun  ;  an'  atter  dey  talk  er 
wile,  den  de  Blue  Jay  he  up'n  sez,  '  I  wuz  jes  er  lookin' 
fur  yer,'  sezee  ;  '  I  gwine  ter  hab  er  party  ter-morrer  night, 
an'  I'd  like  fur  yer  ter  come.  All  de  birds'll  be  dar,  Miss 
Robin  in  speshul,'  sezee. 

"  An'  wen  de  Woodpecker  hyearn  dat,  he  'lowed  he'd 
try  fur  ter  git  dar.  An'  den  de  Jay  he  tell  him  good- 
mornin',  an'  went  on  ter  Miss  Robin's  house.  Well,  hit 
pyeart  like  Miss  Robin  wuz  mo'  cole  dan  uzhul  dat  day, 
an'  by'mby  de  Jay  Bird,  fur  ter  warm  her  up,  sez,  'Yer 
lookin'  mighty  hansum  dis  mornin','  sezee.  An'  sez  she, 
'  I'm  proud  ter  hyear  yer  say  so ;  but,  speakin'  uv  han- 
sum,' sez  she, '  hev  yer  seed  Mr.  Peckerwood  lately?' 

"  Dat  made  de  Blue  Jay  kint  er  mad ;  an'  sezee,  '  Yer 
pyear  ter  tuck  er  mighty  intrus'  in  'im.' 

'"Well,  I  dunno  'bout'n  dat,'  sez  Miss  Robin,  sez  she, 
kinter  lookin'  shame.  « I  dunno  'boutn  dat ;  but,  den  I 
tink  he's  er  mighty  hansum  bird,'  sez  she. 

"  Well,  wid  dat  de  Jay  Bird  'gun  ter  git  madder'n  he 
wuz,  an'  he  'lowed  ter  hisse'f  dat  he'd  ax  Miss  Robin  ter 
his  house,  so's  she  could  see.how  he'd  fix  de  Peckerwood ; 
so  he  sez, 

"'Miss  Robin,  I  gwine  ter  hab  er  party  ter-morrer 
night;  de  Woodpecker'll  be  dar,  an'  I'd  like  fur  yer  ter 
come.' 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  143 

"  Miss  Robin  'lowed  she'd  come,  an'  de  Jay  Bird  tuck 
his  leave. 

"  Well,  de  nex'  night  de  Jay  sot  in  'is  nes'  er  waitin'  fur 
'is  cump'ny ;  an'  atter  er  wile  hyear  come  de  Woodpecker. 
Soon's  eber  he  seed  de  sticks  ercross  de  do',  he  sez,  '  Wy, 
pyears  like  yer  ben  er  fixin'  up/  sezee.  '  Ain't  yer  ben 
er  buildin'  ?' 

" '  Well,'  sez  de  Jay  Bird,  '  I've  jes  put  er  few  'prove- 
munce  up,  fur  ter  keep  de  scritch-owls  outn  my  nes' ;  but 
dar's  plenty  room  fur  my  frien's  ter  git  thu  ;  jes  come  in,' 
sezee  ;  an'  de  Woodpecker  he  started  thu  de  crack.  Soon's 
eber  he  got  his  head  thu,  de  Jay  pullt  de  chip  out,  an'  de 
big  stick  fell  right  crossn  his  neck.  Den  dar  he  wuz,  wid 
his  head  in  an'  his  feet  out !  an'  de  Jay  Bird  'gun  ter  laff, 
an'  ter  make  fun  atn  'im.  Sezee, 4 1  hope  I  see  yer !  Yer 
look  like  sparkin'  Miss  Robin  now !  hit's  er  gre't  pity  she 
can't  see  yer  stretched  out  like  dat ;  an'  she'll  be  hyear, 
too,  d'rectly ;  she's  er  comin'  ter  de  party,'  sezee,  •  an' 
I'm  gwine  ter  gib  her  er  new  dish  ;  I'm  gwine  ter  sot  her 
down  ter  roas'  Woodpecker  dis  ebenin'.  An'  now,  efn 
yer'll  'scuse  me,  I'll  lef  yer  hyear  fur  ter  sorter 'muse  yer- 
se'f  wile  I  grin's  my  ax  fur  ten'  ter  yer.' 

"An'  wid  dat  de  Jay  went  out,  an'  lef  de  po'  Wood- 
pecker er  lyin'  dar ;  an'  by'mby  Miss  Robin  come  erlong ; 
an'  wen  she  seed  de  Woodpecker,  she  axt  'im  '  wat's  he 
doin'  down  dar  on  de  groun'  ?'  an'  atter  he  up  an'  tol'  her, 


144  Diddie,  Dumps.,  and  Tot. 

an'  tol'  her  how  de  Jay  Bird  wuz  er  grin'in'  his  axe  fur  ter 
chop  offn  his  head,  den  de  Robin  she  sot  to  an'  try  ter  lif 
de  stick  offn  him.  She  straint  an'  she  straint,  but  her 
strengt'  wan't  'nuff  fur  ter  move  hit  den ;  an'  so  she  sez, 
'  Mr.  Woodpecker,'  sez  she,  '  s'posin'  I  cotch  holt  yer  feet, 
an'  try  ter  pull  yer  back  dis  way  ?'  '  All  right,'  sez  de 
Woodpecker;  an'  de  Robin,  she  cotch  er  good  grip  on  his 
feet,  an'  she  brace  herse'f  up  'gins  er  bush,  an'  pullt  wid  all 
her  might,  an'  atter  er  wile  she  fotch  'im  thu  ;  but  she  wuz 
bleeged  fur  ter  lef '  his  topknot  behin',  fur  his  head  wuz 
skunt  des  ez  clean  ez  yer  han' ;  an'  'twuz  jes  ez  raw,  honey, 
ez  er  piece  er  beef. 

"  An'  wen  de  Robin  seed  dat,  she  wuz  mighty  'stressed : 
an'  she  tuck  his  head  an'  helt  it  gins  her  breas'  fur  ter  try 
an'  cumfut  him,  an'  de  blood  got  all  ober  her  breas',  an' 
hit's  red  plum  tell  yit. 

"Well,  de  Woodpecker  he  went  erlong  home,  an*  de 
Robin  she  nusst  him  tell  his  head  got  well ;  but  de  top- 
knot wuz  gone,  an'  it  pyeart  like  de  blood  all  settled 
in  his  head,  caze  fum  dat  day  ter  dis  his  head's  ben 
red." 

"  An'  did  he  marry  the  Robin  ?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Now  I  done  tol'  yer  all  I  know,"  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  I 
gun  yer  de  tale  jes  like  I  hyearn  it,  an'  I  ain't  er  gwine 
ter  make  up  nuffiri,  an'  tell  yer  wat  I  dunno  ter  be  de 
truff.     Efn  dar's  any  mo'  ter  it,  den  I  ain't  neber  hyearn 


Diddie^  Dumps>  and  Tot.  145 

hit.  I  gun  yer  de  tale  jes  like  hit  wuz  gunt  ter  me,  an' 
efn  yer  ain't  satisfied  wid  hit,  den  I  can't  holp  it." 

"  But  we  are  satisfied,  Uncle  Bob,"  said  Diddie.  "  It 
was  a  very  pretty  tale,  and  we  are  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Yer  mo'n  welcome,  honey,"  said  Uncle  Bob,  soothed 
by  Diddie's  answer — "  yer  mo'n  welcome ;  but  hit's  gittin' 
too  late  fur  you  chil'en  ter  be  out ;  yer'd  better  be  er  git- 
tin' toerds  home." 

Here  the  little  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  some  per- 
plexity, for  they  knew  Diddie  had  been  missed,  and  they 
were  afraid  to  go  to  the  house. 

"  Uncle  Bob,"  said  Diddie,  "  we've  done  er  wrong  thing 
this  evenin' :  we  ran  away  fum  Miss  Carrie,  an'  we're  scared 
of  papa ;  he  might  er  lock  us  all  up  in  the  library,  an'  talk 
to  us,  an'  say  he's  'stonished  an'  mortified)  an'  so  we're 
scared  to  go  home." 

11  Umph !"  said  Uncle  Bob ;  "  you  chil'en  is  mighty  bad, 
anyhow." 

"  I  think  we're  heap  mo'  better'n  we're  bad"  said  Dumps. 

"  Well,  dat  mout  er  be  so,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  I  ain't 
er  'sputin'  it,  but  you  chil'en  comes  fum  er  mighty  high- 
minded  stock  uv  white  folks,  an'  hit  ain't  becomin'  in  yer 
fur  ter  be  runnin'  erway  an'  er  hidin'  out,  same  ez  ober- 
seer's  chil'en,  an'  all  kin'  er  po'  white  trash." 

"  We  are  sorry  about  it  now,  Uncle  Bob,"  said  Diddie  ■ 
"  but  what  would  you  'vize  us  to  do  ?" 


146  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Well,  my  invice  is  dis,"  said  Uncle  Bob,  "  fur  ter  go 
ter  yer  pa,  an'  tell  him  de  trufT;  state  all  de  konkum- 
stances  des  like  dey  happen ;  don't  lebe  out  none  er  de 
facks ;  tell  him  you're  sorry  yer  'haved  so  onstreperous, 
an'  ax  him  fur  ter  furgib  yer;  an'  ef  he  do,  wy  dat's  all 
right ;  an'  den  ef  he  don't,  -wy  yer  mus'  'bide  by  de  kin- 
sequonces.  But  fuss,  do,  fo'  yer  axes  fur  furgibness,  yer 
mus'  turn  yer  min's  ter  repintunce.  Now  I  ax  you  chil'en 
dis,  Is — you — sorry — dat — you — runned — off?  an' — is — 
you — 'pentin' — uv — wadin' — in — de — ditch?" 

Uncle  Bob  spoke  very  slowly  and  solemnly,  and  in  a 
deep  tone ;  and  Diddie,  feeling  very  much  as  if  she  had 
been  guilty  of  murder,  replied, 

"  Yes,  I  am  truly  sorry,  Uncle  Bob." 

Dumps  and  Tot  and  the  three  little  darkies  gravely 
nodded  their  heads  in  assent. 

"  Den  jesgo  an'  tell  yer  pa  so,"  said  the  old  man.  "An', 
anyway,  yer'll  hatter  be  gwine,  caze  hit's  gittin'  dark." 

The  little  folks  walked  off  slowly  towards  the  house, 
and  presently  Dumps  said, 

"  Diddie,  I  don't  b'lieve  I'm  rael  sorry  we  runned  off, 
an'  I  don't  right  'pent  'bout  wadin'  in  the  ditch,  cause  we 
had  er  mighty  heap  er  fun  ;  an'  yer  reckon  ef  I'm  jes  sorter 
sorry,  an'  jes  tolerble  'pent,  that'll  do  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Diddie  ;  "  but  I'm  right 
sorry,  and  I'll  tell  papa  for  all  of  us." 


"WELL,  MY  INVICE  IS  DIS." 


Diddiey  Dumps,  and  Tot.  149 

The  children  went  at  once  to  the  library,  where  Major 
Waldron  was  found  reading. 

"  Papa,"  said  Diddie,  "  we've  ben  very  bad,  an'  we've 
come  ter  tell  yer  'bout  it." 

"  An'  the  Jay  Bird,  he  tol'  the  deb'l,"  put  in  Dumps, 
"  an'  'twan't  none  er  his  business." 

"  Hush  up,  Dumps,"  said  Diddie,  "  till  I  tell  papa  'bout 
it.  I  wouldn't  say  my  lesson,  papa,  an'  Miss  Carrie  locked 
me  up,  an'  the  chil'en  brought  me  my  dinner." 

"  Tuz  me,"  chimed  in  Tot.  "  I  b'ing  'er  de  besses  din- 
ner—  take  an'  jam  an'  pud'n  in  de  p'ate.  Aunt  Mawy 
dum  turn  me." 

"  Hush,  Tot,"  said  Diddie,  "  till  I  get  through.  An' 
then,  papa,  I  climbed  out  the  winder  on  the  step-ladder, 
an'  I — " 

"  Dilsey  an'  Chris  got  the  ladder,"  put  in  Dumps. 

"Hush  up,  Dumps!"  said  Diddie;  "you're  all  time 
'ruptin'  me." 

"  I  reckon  I  done  jes  bad  ez  you,"  retorted  Dumps, "  an' 
I  got  jes  much  right  ter  tell  'boutn  it.  You  think  no- 
body can't  be  bad  but  yerse'f.' 

"  Well,  then,  you  can  tell  it  all,"  said  Diddie,  with  dig- 
nity.    "  Papa,  Dumps  will  tell  you." 

And  Dumps,  nothing  daunted,  continued : 

"  Dilsey  an'  Chris  brought  the  step-ladder,  an'  Diddie 
clum  out ;  an'  we  runned  erway  in  the  woods,  an'  waded 


150  Diddie^  Dumps ;  and  Tot. 

in  the  ditch,  an'  got  all  muddy  up ;  an'  the  Jay  Bird,  he  was 
settin'  on  er  limb  watchin'  us,  an'  he  carried  the  news  ter  the 
deb'l ;  an'  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob  let  us  go  ter  his  shop,  an' 
tol'  us  'bout  the  Woodpecker's  head,  an*  that's  all ;  only 
we  ain't  n-e-v-er  goin'  ter  do  it  no  mo';  an',  oh  yes,  I  fur- 
got — an'  Diddie's  rael  sorry  an'  right  'pents ;  an'  I'm  sort- 
er sorry,  an'  toler'ble  'pents.  An',  please,  are  you  mad, 
papa?" 

"  It  was  certainly  very  wrong,"  said  her  father,  "  to 
help  Diddie  to  get  out,  when  Miss  Carrie  had  locked  her 
in  ;  and  I  am  surprised  that  Diddie  should  need  to  be  kept 
in.     Why  didn't  you  learn  your  lesson,  my  daughter?" 

"  I  did,"  answered  Diddie  ;  "  I  knew  it  every  word  ;  but 
Miss  Carrie  jus'  cut  up,  an'  wouldn't  let  me  say  it  like 
'twas  in  the  book ;  an'  she  laughed  at  me ;  an'  then  I  got 
mad,  an'  wouldn't  say  it  at  all." 

"Which  lesson  was  it?"  asked  Major  Waldron. 

"  'Twas  er  hist'ry  lesson,  an'  the  question  was,  '  Who 
was  Columbus?'  an'  the  answer  was,  '  He  was  the  son  of 
er  extinguished  alligator;'  an'  Miss  Carrie  laughed,  an' 
said  that  wan't  it." 

"  And  I  rather  think  Miss  Carrie  was  right,"  said  the 
father.     "  Go  and  bring  me  the  book." 

Diddie  soon  returned  with  her  little  history,  and,  show- 
ing the  passage  to  her  father,  said,  eagerly, 

"  Now  don't  you  see  here,  papa?" 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  151 

And  Major  Waldron  read,  "  He  was  the  son  of  a  distin- 
guishednavigator '."  Then,  making  Diddie  spell  the  words 
in  the  book,  he  explained  to  her  her  mistake,  and  said  he 
would  like  to  have  her  apologize  to  Miss  Carrie  for  being 
so  rude  to  her. 

This  Diddie  was  very  willing  to  do,  and  her  father  went 
with  her  to  the  sitting-room  to  find  Miss  Carrie,  who  read- 
ily forgave  Diddie  for  her  rebellion,  and  Dumps  and  Tot 
for  interfering  with  her  discfpline.  And  that  was  a  great 
deal  more  than  Mammy  did,  when  she  saw  the  state  of 
their  shoes  and  stockings,  and  found  that  they  had  been 
wading  in  the  ditch. 

She  slapped  the  little  darkies,  and  tied  red-flannel  rags 
wet  with  turpentine  round  the  children's  necks  to  keep 
them  from  taking  cold,  and  scolded  and  fussed  so  that  the 
little  girls  pulled  the  cover  over  their  heads  and  went  to 
sleep,  and  left  her  quarrelling. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  PLANTATION  MEETING  AND  UNCLE  DANIEL'S  SERMON. 

"  A  RE  you  gwine  ter  meetin',  Mammy?"  asked  Did- 
J~\,  die  one  Sunday  evening,  as  Mammy  came  out  of 
the  house  attired  in  her  best  flowered  muslin,  with  an  old- 
fashioned  mantilla  (that  had  once  been  Diddie's  grand- 
mother's) around  her  shoulders. 

"  Cose  I  gwine  ter  meetin',  honey ;  I'se  er  tryin'  ter 
sarve  de  Lord,  I  is,  caze  we  ain't  gwine  stay  hyear  on  dis 
yearth  all  de  time.  We  got  ter  go  ter  nudder  kentry, 
chile ;  an'  efn  yer  don't  go  ter  meetin',  an'  watch  an'  pray, 
like  de  Book  say  fur  yer  ter  do,  den  yer  mus'  look  out  fur 
yerse'f  wen  dat  Big  Day  come  wat  I  hyears  'em  talkin' 
'bout." 

"  Can't  we  go  with  you,  Mammy?  We'll  be  good,  an' 
not  laugh  at  'em  shoutin'." 

"  I  dunno  wat  yer  gwine  loff  at  'em  shoutin'  fur ;  efn 
yer  don't  min'  de  loff  gwine  ter  be  turnt  some  er  deze  days, 
an'  dem  wat  yer  loffs  at  hyear,  dem's  de  ones  wat's  gwine 
ter  do  de  loffin'  wen  we  gits  up  yon'er !     But,  let  erlone 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  153 

dat,  yer  kin  go  efn  yer  wants  ter ;  an'  efn  yer'll  make  has'e 
an'  git  yer  bunnits,  caze  I  ain't  gwine  wait  no  gret  wile. 
I  don't  like  ter  go  ter  meetin'  atter  hit  starts.  I  want  ter 
hyear  Brer  Dan'l's  tex',  I  duz.  I  can't  neber  enj'y  de  ser- 
mon doutn  I  hyears  de  tex'." 

You  may  be  sure  it  wasn't  long  before  the  children  were 
all  ready,  for  they  knew  Mammy  would  be  as  good  as  her 
word,  and  would  not  wait  for  them.  When  they  reached 
the  church,  which  was  a  very  nice  wooden  building  that 
Major  Waldron  had  had  built  for  that  purpose,  there  was 
a  large  crowd  assembled ;  for,  besides  Major  Waldron's 
own  slaves,  quite  a  number  from  the  adjoining  plantations 
were  there.  The  younger  negroes  were  laughing  and  chat- 
ting in  groups  outside  the  door,  but  the  older  ones  wore 
very  solemn  countenances,  and  walked  gravely  in  and  up 
to  the  very  front  pews.  On  Mammy's  arrival,  she  placed 
the  little  girls  in  seats  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  left 
Dilsey  and  Chris  and  Riar  on  the  seat  just  behind  them, 
"  fur  ter  min'  'em,"  as  she  said  (for  the  children  must  al- 
ways be  under  the  supervision  of  somebody),  and  then  she 
went  to  her  accustomed  place  at  the  front ;  for  Mammy 
was  one  of  the  leading  members,  and  sat  in  the  amen 
corner. 

Soon  after  they  had  taken  their  seats,  Uncle  Gabe, 
who  had  a  powerful  voice,  and  led  the  singing,  struck 
up: 


154  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Roll,  Jordan,  roll !  roll,  Jordan,  roll ! 
I  want  ter  go  ter  heb'n  wen  I  die, 
Fur  ter  hyear  sweet  Jordan  roll. 

"  Oh,  pray,  my  brudder,  pray ! 
Yes,  my  Lord ; 
My  brudder's  settin'  in  de  kingdum, 
Fur  ter  hyear  sweet  Jordan  roll. 

Chorus. 

Roll,  Jordan,  roll !  roll,  Jordan,  roll ! 
I  want  ter  go  ter  heb'n  wen  I  die, 
Fur  ter  hyear  sweet  Jordan  roll. 

"  Oh,  shout,  my  sister,  shout ! 
Yes,  my  Lord ; 
My  sister  she's  er  shoutin' 

Caze  she  hyears  sweet  Jordan  roll. 

"  Oh,  moan,  you  monahs,  moan  ! 
Yes,  my  Lord  ; 
De  monahs  sobbin'  an'  er  weepin', 
Fur  ter  hyear  sweet  Jordan  roll. 

"  Oh,  scoff,  you  scoffers,  scoff ! 
Yes,  my  Lord  ; 
Dem  sinners  wat's  er  scoffin' 
Can't  hyear  sweet  Jordan  roll." 

And  as  the  flood  of  melody  poured  through  the  house, 
the  groups  on  the  outside  came  in  to  join  the  singing. 

After  the  hymn,  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob  led  in  prayer, 
and  what  the  old  man  lacked  in  grammar  and  rhetoric 
was  fully  made  up  for  in  fervency  and  zeal. 

The  prayer  ended,  Uncle  Daniel  arose,  and,  carefully 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  155 

adjusting  his  spectacles,  he  opened  his  Bible  with  all  the 
gravity  and  dignity  imaginable,  and  proceeded  to  give  out 
his  text. 

Now  the  opening  of  the  Bible  was  a  mere  matter  of 
form,  for  Uncle  Daniel  didn't  even  know  his  letters ;  but 
he  thought  it  was  more  impressive  to  have  the  Bible  open, 
and  therefore  never  omitted  that  part  of  the  ceremony. 

"  My  bredren  an'  my  sistren,"  he  began,  looking  sol- 
emnly over  his  specs  at  the  congregation,  "  de  tex'  wat 
I'se  gwine  ter  gib  fur  yer  'strucshun  dis  ebenin'  yer'll  not 
fin'  in  de  foremus'  part  er  de  Book,  nur  yit  in  de  hine 
part.  Hit's  swotuwated  mo'  in  de  middle  like,  'boutn  ez 
fur  fum  one  een  ez  'tiz  fum  tudder,  an'  de  wuds  uv  de  tex' 
is  dis : 

" '  Burhol',  I'll  punish  um  !  dey  young  men  shall  die  by 
de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 

"  My  bredren,  embracin'  uv  de  sistren,  I'se  ben  'stressed 
in  my  min'  'boutn  de  wickedness  I  sees  er  gwine  on.  Eby 
night  de  Lord  sen'  dar's  dancin'  an'  loffin'  an'  fiddlin' ;  an' 
efn  er  man  raises  'im  er  few  chickens  an'  watermillions, 
dey  ain't  safe  no  longer'n  his  back's  turnt ;  an',  let  erlone 
dat,  dar's  quarlin'  'longer  one  nudder,  an'  dar's  sassin'  uv 
wite  folks  an'  ole  pussuns,  an'  dar's  drinkin'  uv  whiskey, 
an'  dar's  beatin'  uv  wives,  an'  dar's  dev'lin'  uv  husban's, 
an'  dar's  imperrence  uv  chil'en,  an'  dar's  makin'  fun  uv 
'ligion,  an'  dar's  singin'  uv  reel  chunes,  an'  dar's  slightin' 


156  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

uv  wuck,  an'  dar's  stayin'  fum  meetin',  an'  dar's  swearin' 
an'  cussin',  an'  dar's  eby  kin'  er  wickedness  an'  dev'lment 
loose  in  de  land. 

"  An',  my  bredren,  takin'  in  de  sistren,  I've  talked  ter 
yer,  an'  I've  tol'  yer  uv  de  goodness  an'  de  long-suff'rin' 
uv  de  Lord.  I  tol'  yer  outn  his  Book,  whar  he'd  lead  yer 
side  de  waters,  an'  be  a  Shepherd  ter  yer;  an'  yer  kep' 
straight  on,  an'  neber  paid  no  'tenshun ;  so  tudder  night, 
wile  I  wuz  er  layin'  in  de  bed  an'  er  steddin'  wat  ter  preach 
'bout,  sumpin'  kin'  er  speak  in  my  ear ;  an'  hit  sez,  '  Brer 
Dan'l,  yer've  tol'  'em  'bout  de  Lord's  leadin'  uv  'em,  an* 
now  tell  'em  'boutn  his  drivin'  uv  'em.  An',  my  bredren, 
includin'  uv  de  sistren,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  spare  yer  feelin's 
dis  day.  I'm  er  stan'in'  hyear  fur  ter  'liver  de  message 
outn  de  Book,  an'  dis  is  de  message : 

" '  Burhol',  I'll  punish  um  !  dey  young  men  shall  die  by 
de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 

"Yer  all  hyear  it,  don't  yer?  An'  now  yer  want  ter 
know  who  sont  it.  De  Lord !  Hit's  true  he  sont  it  by  a 
po'  ole  nigger,  but  den  hit's  his  own  wuds ;  hit's  in  his 
Book.  An',  fussly,  we'll  pursidder  dis :  Is  HE  ABLE  TER  DO 
IT  ?  Is  he  able  fur  ter  kill  marster's  niggers  wid  de  s'ord 
an'  de  famine  ?  My  bredren,  he  is  able !  Didn'  he  prize 
open  de  whale's  mouf,  an'  take  Jonah  right  outn  him  ? 
Didn'  he  hoi'  back  de  lions  wen  dey  wuz  er  rampin'  an' 
er  tearin'  roun'  atter  Dan'l  in  de  den  ?    Wen  de  flood  come. 


Diddle,  Dumps,  a?id  Tot.  157 

an'  all  de  yearth  wuz  drownded,  didn'  he  paddle  de  ark 
till  he  landed  her  on  top  de  mount  er  rats?  Yes,  my 
bredren,  embracin'  uv  de  sistren,  an'  de  same  Lord  wat 
done  all  er  dat,  he's  de  man  wat's  got  de  s'ords  an'  de 
famines  ready  fur  dem  wat  feels  deyse'f  too  smart  ter  'bey 
de  teachin's  uv  de  Book.  '  Dey  young  men  shall  die  by 
de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 

"  Oh,  you  chu'ch  membahs  wat  shouts  an'  prays  uv  er 
Sundays  an'  steals  watermillions  uv  er  week-days !  Oh, 
you  young  men  wat's  er  cussin'  an'  er  robbin'  uv  hen- 
rooses !  Oh,  you  young  women  wat's  er  singin'  uv  reel 
chunes !  Oh,  you  chil'en  wat's  er  sassin'  uv  ole  folks ! 
Oh,  you  ole  pussons  wat's  er  fussin'  an'  quarlin' !  Oh,  you 
young  folks  wat's  er  dancin'  an'  prancin' !  Oh,  you  nig- 
gers wat's  er  slightin'  uv  yer  wuck  !  Oh  !  pay  'tenshun  ter 
de  message  dis  ebenin',  caze  yer  gwine  wake  up  some  er 
deze  mornin's,  an'  dar  at  yer  do's  '11  be  de  s'ord  an'  de 
famine. 

"  '  Burhol',  I'll  punish  um  !  dey  young  men  shall  die  by 
de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 

"  Bredren,  an'  likewise  sistren,  yer  dunno  wat  yer  foolin' 
wid !  Dem  s'ords  an'  dem  famines  is  de  wust  things  dey 
is.  Dey's  wuss'n  de  rheumatiz  ;  dey's  wuss'n  de  toofache  ; 
dey's  wuss'n  de  cramps ;  dey's  wuss'n  de  lockjaw ;  dey's 
wuss'n  anything.  Wen  Adam  an'  Ebe  wuz  turnt  outn  de 
gyarden,  an'  de  Lord  want  ter  keep  'em  out,  wat's  dat  he 


158  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

put  dar  fur  ter  skyer  'em?  Wuz  it  er  elfunt?  No,  sar! 
Wuz  it  er  lion  ?  No,  sar !  He  had  plenty  beases  uv  eby 
kin',  but  den  he  didn'  cyar  'boutn  usen  uv  'em.  Wuz  hit 
rain  or  hail,  or  fire,  or  thunder,  or  lightnin'  ?  No,  my  bred- 
ren,  hit  wuz  er  s'ord  !  Caze  de  Lord  knowed  weneber  dey 
seed  de  s'ord  dar  dey  wan't  gwine  ter  facin'  it.  Oh,  den, 
lis'en  at  de  message  dis  ebenin'. 

"  '  Dey  young  men  shall  die  by  de  s'ord.' 

"  An'  den,  ergin,  dars  dem  famines,  my  bredren,  takin' 
in  de  sistren — dem  famines  come  plum  fum  Egypt !  dey 
turnt  'em  erloose  dar  one  time,  mun,  an'  de  Book  sez  all 
de  Ian'  wuz  sore,  an'  thousan's  pun  top  er  thousan's  wuz 
slaint. 

"  Dey  ain't  no  way  fur  ter  git  roun'  dem  famines.  Yer 
may  hide,  yer  may  run  in  de  swamps,  yer  may  climb  de 
trees,  but,  bredren,  efn  eber  dem  famines  git  atter  yer,  yer 
gone !  dey'll  cotch  yer !  dey's  nuffin  like  'em  on  de  face 
uv  de  yearth,  les'n  hit's  de  s'ord ;  dar  ain't  much  chice 
twix  dem  two.  Wen  hit  comes  ter  s'ords  an'  famines,  I 
tell  yer,  gemmun,  hit's  nip  an'  tuck.  Yit  de  message,  hit 
sez,  '  dey  young  men  shall  die  by  de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons 
an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 

"  Now,  bredren  an'  sistren,  an'  monahs  an'  sinners,  don't 
le's  force  de  Lord  fur  ter  drive  us ;  le's  try  fur  ter  sarve 
him,  an'  fur  ter  git  erlong  doutn  de  s'ords  an  de  famines. 
Come  up  hyear  roun'  dis  altar,  an'  wrestle  fur  'ligion,  an' 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  159 

dem  few  uv  us  wat  is  godly — me  an'  Brer  Snake-bit  Bob 
an'  Sis  Haly  an'  Brer  Gabe,  an'  Brer  Lige  an'  Brer  One- 
eyed  Pete,  an'  Sis  Rachel  (Mammy)  an'  Sis  Hannah — we're 
gwine  put  in  licks  fur  yer  dis  ebenin'.  Oh,  my  frens,  yer 
done  hyeard  de  message.  Oh,  spar'  us  de  s'ords  an  de 
famines!  don't  drive  de  Lord  fur  ter  use  'em  !  Come  up 
hyear  now  dis  ebenin',  an'  let  us  all  try  ter  hep  yer  git 
thu.  Leave  yer  dancin'  an'  yer  singin'  an'  yer  playin' ; 
leave  yer  whiskey  an'  yer  cussin'  an'  yer  swearin',  an'  tu'n 
yer  min's  ter  de  s'ords  an'  de  famines. 

"Wen  de  Lord  fotches  dem  s'ords  outn  Eden,  an'  dem 
famines  outn  Egyp',  an'  tu'n  'em  erloose  on  dis  planta- 
tion, I  tell  yer,  mun,  dar's  gwine  be  skyeared  niggers 
hyear.  Yer  won't  see  no  dancin'  den ;  yer  won't  hyear 
no  cussin',  nor  no  chickens  hollin'  uv  er  night ;  dey  won't 
be  no  reel  chunes  sung  den  ;  yer'll  want  ter  go  ter  prayin', 
an'  yer'll  be  er  callin'  on  us  wat  is  stedfus  in  de  faith  fur 
ter  hep  yer;  but  we  can't  hep  yer  den.  We'll  be  er  try- 
in'  on  our  wings  an'  er  floppin'  'em"  ("Yes,  bless  God!" 
thus  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob),  "an'  er  gittin'  ready  fur  ter 
start  upuds!  We'll  be  er  lacin'  up  dem  golden  shoes" 
("Yes,  marster!"  thus  Mammy),  "fur  ter  walk  thu  dem 
pearly  gates.  We  can't  stop  den.  We  can't  'liver  no 
message  den  ;  de  Book  '11  be  shot.  So,  bredren,  hyear  it 
dis  ebenin'.     '  Dey  young  men  shall  die  by  de  s'ord,  an' 

dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.' 
11 


160  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Now,  I've  said  ernuff;  dey's  no  use  fur  ter  keep  er 
talkin',  an'  all  you  backslidin'  chu'ch  membahs,  tremblin' 
sinners,  an'  weepin'  monahs,  come  up  hyear  dis  ebenin', 
an'  try  ter  git  erroun'  dem  s'ords  an'  dem  famines.  Now 
my  skyearts  is  clar,  caze  I  done  'liver  de  message.  I  done 
tol'  yer  whar  hit  come  fum.  I  tol'  yer  'twas  in  de  Book, 
'boutn  middle-ways  twix'  een  an'  een ;  an'  wedder  David 
writ  it  or  Sam'l  writ  it,  or  Gen'sis  writ  it  or  Paul  writ  it,  or 
Phesians  writ  it  or  Loshuns  writ  it,  dat  ain't  nudder  hyear 
nor  dar,;  dat  don't  make  no  diffunce  ;  some  on  'em  writ  it, 
caze  hit's  sholy  in  de  Book,  fur  de  oberseer's  wife  she  read 
hit  ter  me  outn  dar ;  an'  I  tuck  'tickler  notice,  too,  so's  I 
could  tell  yer  right  whar  ter  fin'  it.  An',  bredren,  I'm  er 
tellin'  yer  de  truf  dis  ebenin' ;  hit's  jes  'bout  de  middle 
twix'  een  an'  een.  Hit's  dar,  sho's  yer  born,  an'  dar  ain't 
no  way  fur  ter  'sputin'  it,  nor  ter  git  roun'  it,  'septin'  fur 
ter  tu'n  fum  yer  wickedness.  An'  now,  Brudder  Gabe, 
raise  er  chune ;  an'  sing  hit  lively,  bredren  ;  an'  wile  dey's 
singin'  hit,  I  want  yer  ter  come  up  hyear  an'  fill  deze  mon- 
ahs' benches  plum  full.  Bredren,  I  want  monahs  'pun  top 
er  monahs  dis  ebenin'.  Bredren,  I  want  'em  in  crowds. 
I  want  'em  in  droves.  I  want  'em  in  layers.  I  want  'em 
in  piles.  I  want  'em  laid  'pun  top  er  one  ernudder,  bred- 
ren, tell  yer  can't  see  de  bottumus'  monahs.  I  want  'em 
piled  up  hyear  dis  ebenin'.  I  want  'em  packed  down, 
mun,  an'  den  tromped  on,  ter  make  room  fur  de  nex'  load. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  161 

Oh,  my  bredren,  come !  fur  '  dey  young  men  shall  die  by 
de  s'ord,  an'  dey  sons  an'  dey  daughters  by  de  famine.'  " 

The  scene  that  followed  baffles  all  description.  Uncle 
Gabe  struck  up — 

"  Oh,  lebe  de  woods  uv  damnation  ; 
Come  out  in  de  fields  uv  salvation  ; 
Fur  de  Lord's  gwine  ter  bu'n  up  creation, 
Wen  de  day  uv  jedgment  come. 

"  Oh,  sinners,  yer  may  stan'  dar  er  laffin', 
Wile  de  res'  uv  us  is  er  quaffin' 
Uv  de  streams  wich  de  win's  is  er  waffin' 
Right  fresh  fum  de  heb'nly  sho'. 

"  But,  min',  dar's  er  day  is  er  comin', 
Wen  yer'll  hyear  a  mighty  pow'ful  hummin' ; 
Wen  dem  angels  is  er  blowin'  an'  er  drummin', 
In  de  awful  jedgment  day. 

"  Oh,  monahs,  you  may  stan'  dar  er  weepin', 
Fur  de  brooms  uv  de  Lord  is  er  sweepin', 
An'  all  de  trash  dey's  er  heapin' 
Outside  er  de  golden  gate. 

"  So,  sinners,  yer'd  better  be  er  tu'nin', 
Er  climbin'  an'  er  scramblin'  an'  er  runnin', 
Fur  ter  'scape  dat  drefful  burnin' 
In  de  awful  jedgment  day." 

And  while  the  hymn  was  being  sung,  Uncle  Daniel  had 
his  wish  of  "  monahs  'pun  top  er  monahs,"  for  the  benches 
and  aisles  immediately  around  the  altar  were  soon  crowd- 
ed with  the  weeping  negroes.  Some  were  crying,  some 
shouting  Glory!  some  praying  aloud,  some  exhorting  the 


1 62  Diddie,  Dumps ;  and  Tot. 

sinners,  some  comfort,* rsf  the  mourners,  some  shrieking 
and  screaming,  and,  above  all  the  din  and  confusion, 
Uncle  Daniel  could  be  heard  halloing,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "  Dem  s'ords  an'  dem  famines !"  After  nearly  an 
hour  of  this  intense  excitement,  the  congregation  was 
dismissed,  one  of  them,  at  least,  more  dead  than  alive ; 
for  "  Aunt  Ceely,"  who  had  long  been  known  as  "  er  pow'- 
ful  sinful  ooman,"  had  fallen  into  a  trance,  whether  real  or 
assumed  must  be  determined  by  wiser  heads  than  mine ; 
for  it  was  no  uncommon  occurrence  for  those  "  seekin' 
'ligion  "  to  lie  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness  for  several 
hours,  and,  on  their  return  to  consciousness,  to  relate  the 
most  wonderful  experiences  of  what  had  happened  to 
them  while  in  the  trance.  Aunt  Ceely  lay  as  if  she  were 
dead,  and  two  of  the  Christian  men  (for  no  sinner  must 
touch  her  at  this  critical  period)  bore  her  to  her  cabin,  fol- 
lowed by  the  "  chu'ch  membahs,"  who  would  continue  their 
singing  and  praying  until  she  "  come  thu,"  even  if  the 
trance  should  last  all  night.  The  children  returned  to 
the  house  without  Mammy,  for  she  was  with  the  proces- 
sion which  had  followed  Aunt  Ceely  ;  and  as  they  reached 
the  yard,  they  met  their  father  returning  from  the  lot. 

"  Papa,"  called  Dumps,  "  we're  goin'  ter  have  awful 
troubles  hyear." 

"  How,  my  little  daughter?"  asked  her  father. 

"  The  Lord's  goin'  ter  sen'  s'ords  an'  famines,  an*  they'll 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  165 

eat  up  all  the  young  men,  an'  ev'ybody's  sons  an'  daugh- 
ters," she  replied,  earnestly.  "  Uncle  Dan'l  said  so  in 
meetin';  an'  all  the  folks  was  screamin'  an'  shoutin',  an' 
Aunt  Ceely  is  in  a  trance  'bout  it,  an'  she  ain't  come  thu 
yet." 

Major  Waldron  was  annoyed  that  his  children  should 
have  witnessed  any  such  scene,  for  they  were  all  very 
much  excited  and  frightened  at  the  fearful  fate  that  they 
felt  was  approaching  them ;  so  he  took  them  into  his 
library,  and  explained  the  meaning  of  the  terms  "  swords 
and  famines,"  and  read  to  them  the  whole  chapter,  ex- 
plaining how  the  prophet  referred  only  to  the  calamities 
that  should  befall  the  Hebrews ;  but,  notwithstanding  all 
that,  the  children  were  uneasy,  and  made  Aunt  Milly  sit  by 
the  bedside  until  they  went  to  sleep,  to  keep  the  "  swords 
and  the  famines"  from  getting  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DIDDIE   AND   DUMPS   GO  VISITING. 

IT  was  some  time  in  June  that,  the  weather  being  fine, 
Mammy  gave  the  children  permission  to  go  down  to 
the  woods  beyond  the  gin-house  and  have  a  picnic. 

They  had  a  nice  lunch  put  up  in  their  little  baskets,  and 
started  off  in  high  glee,  taking  with  them  Cherubim  and 
Seraphim  and  the  doll  babies.  They  were  not  to  stay  all 
day,  only  till  dinner-time  ;  so  they  had  no  time  to  lose,  but 
set  to  playing  at  once. 

First,  it  was  "  Ladies  come  to  see,"  and  each  of  them 
had  a  house  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  spent  most  of 
the  time  in  visiting  and  in  taking  care  of  their  respective 
families.  Dumps  had  started  out  with  Cherubim  for  her 
little  boy ;  but  he  proved  so  refractory,  and  kept  her  so 
busy  catching  him,  that  she  decided  to  play  he  was  the 
yard  dog,  and  content  herself  with  the  dolls  for  her  chil- 
dren. Riar,  too,  had  some  trouble  in  her  family ;  in  pass- 
ing through  the  yard,  she  had  inveigled  Hester's  little 
two-year-old  son  to  go  with  them,  and  now  was  desirous 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  167' 

of  claiming  him  as  her  son  and  heir — a  position  which  he 
filled  very  contentedly  until  Diddie  became  ambitious  of 
living  in  more  style  than  her  neighbors,  and  offered  Pip 
(Hester's  baby)  the  position  of  dining-room  servant  in  her 
establishment ;  and  he,  lured  off  by  the  prospect  of  play- 
ing with  the  little  cups  and  saucers,  deserted  Riar  for  Did- 
die. This  produced  a  little  coolness,  but  gradually  it  wore 
off,  and  the  visiting  between  the  parties  was  resumed. 

After  "  ladies  come  to  see  "  had  lost  its  novelty,  they 
made  little  leaf-boats,  and  sailed  them  in  the  ditch.  Then 
they  played  "  hide  the  switch,"  and  at  last  concluded  to 
try  a  game  of  hide-and-seek.  This  afforded  considera- 
ble amusement,  so  they  kept  it  up  some  time ;  and  once, 
when  it  became  Dumps's  time  to  hide,  she  ran  away  to 
the  gin-house,  and  got  into  the  pick-room.  And  while 
she  was  standing  there  all  by  herself  in  the  dark,  she 
thought  she  heard  somebody  breathing.  This  frightened 
her  very  much,  and  she  had  just  opened  the  door  to  get 
out,  when  a  negro  man  crawled  from  under  a  pile  of  dirty 
cotton,  and  said, 

"  Little  missy,  fur  de  Lord's  sake,  can't  yer  gimme  sump'n 
t'  eat  ?" 

Dumps  was  so  scared  she  could  hardly  stand  ;  but,  not- 
withstanding the  man's  haggard  face  and  hollow  eyes,  and 
his  weird  appearance,  with  the  cotton  sticking  to  his 
head,  his  tone  was  gentle,  and  she  stopped  to  look  at  him 
more  closely. 


1 68  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Little  missy,"  he  said,  piteously,  "  Fse  er  starvin'  ter 
def.     I  ain't  had  er  mouf'l  ter  eat  in  fo'  days." 

"  What's  the  reason  ?"  asked  Dumps.  "  Are  you  a  run- 
away nigger?" 

"  Yes,  honey ;  I  'longs  ter  ole  Tight-fis'  Smith ;  an'  he 
wanted  ter  whup  me  fur  not  gittin'  out  ter  de  fiel'  in  time, 
an'  I  tuck'n  runned  envay  fum  'im,  an'  now  I'm  skyeert 
ter  go  back,  an'  ter  go  anywhar  ;  an'  I  can't  fin'  nuf 'n  t'  eat, 
an'  Fse  er  starvin'  ter  def." 

"  Well,  you  wait,"  said  Dumps,  "  an'  I'll  go  bring  yer 
the  picnic." 

"  Don't  tell  nobody  'boutn  my  bein'  hyear,  honey." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Dumps,  "  only  Diddie ;  she's  good, 
an'  she  won't  tell  nobody ;  an'  she  can  read  an'  write,  an' 
she'll  know  what  to  do  better'n  me,  because  I'm  all  the 
time  such  a  little  goose.  But  I'll  bring  yer  sump'n  t'  eat ; 
you  jes  wait  er  little  minute ;  an'  don't  yer  starve  ter  def 
till  I  come  back." 

Dumps  ran  back  to  the  ditch  where  the  children  were, 
and,  taking  Diddie  aside  in  a  very  mysterious  manner,  she 
told  her  about  the  poor  man  who  was  hiding  in  the  gin- 
house,  and  about  his  being  so  hungry. 

"An'  I  tol'  'im  I'd  bring  'im  the  picnic,"  concluded 
Dumps  ;  and  Diddie,  being  the  gentlest  and  kindest-heart- 
ed little  girl  imaginable,  at  once  consented  to  that  plan ; 
and,  leaving  Tot  with  the  little  negroes  in  the  woods,  the 


Diddie,  Dumps \  and  Tot.  169 

two  children  took  their  baskets,  and  went  higher  up  the 
ditch,  on  pretence  of  finding  a  good  place  to  set  the  table; 
but,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight,  they  cut  across  the 
grove,  and  were  soon  at  the  gin-house.  They  entered  the 
pick-room  cautiously,  and  closed  the  door  behind  them, 
The  man  came  out  from  his  hiding-place,  and  the  little 
girls  emptied  their  baskets  in  his  hands. 

He  ate  ravenously,  and  Diddie  and  Dumps  saw  with 
pleasure  how  much  he  enjoyed  the  nice  tarts  and  sand- 
wiches and  cakes  that  Mammy  had  provided  for  the  picnic. 

"  Do  you  sleep  here  at  night  ?"  asked  Diddie. 

"Yes,  honey,  Fse  skyeert  ter  go  out  anywhar;  I'se  so 
skyeert  uv  Tight-fis'  Smith." 

"  He's  awful  mean,  ain't  he  ?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  Dat  he  is,  chile,"  replied  the  man;  "he's  cruel  an' 
bad." 

"  Then  don't  you  ever  go  back  to  him,"  said  Dumps. 
"  You  stay  right  here  an'  me'n  Diddie'll  bring  you  ev'y- 
thing  ter  eat,  an'  have  you  fur  our  nigger." 

The  man  laughed  softly  at  that  idea,  but  said  he  would 
stay  there  for  the  present,  anyway  ;  and  the  children,  bid- 
ding him  good-bye,  and  telling  him  they  would  be  sure  to 
bring  him  something  to  eat  the  next  day,  went  back  to 
their  playmates  at  the  ditch. 

"  Tot,"  said  Diddie,  "  we  gave  all  the  picnic  away  to  a 
poor  old  man  who  was  very  hungry;  but  you  don't  mind, 


170  Diddie,  Dumps ;  and  Tot. 

do  you  ?  we'll  go  back  to  the  house,  and  Mammy  will  give 
you  just  as  many  cakes  as  you  want." 

Tot  was  a  little  bit  disappointed,  for  she  had  wanted  to 
eat  the  picnic  in  the  woods ;  but  Diddie  soon  comforted 
her,  and  before  they  reached  the  house  she  was  as  merry 
and  bright  as  any  of  them. 

The  next  morning  Diddie  and  Dumps  were  very  much 
perplexed  to  know  how  to  get  off  to  the  gin-house  with- 
out being  seen.  There  was  no  difficulty  about  obtaining 
the  provisions ;  their  mother  always  let  them  have  what- 
ever they  wanted  to  have  tea-parties  with,  and  this  was 
their  excuse  for  procuring  some  slices  of  pie  and  cake, 
while  Aunt  Mary  gave  them  bread  and  meat,  and  Doug- 
lass gave  them  some  cold  buttered  biscuit  with  ham  be- 
tween. 

They  wrapped  it  all  up  carefully  in  a  bundle,  and  then, 
watching  their  chances,  they  slipped  off  from  Tot  and  the 
little  darkies,  as  well  as  from  Mammy,  and  carried  it  to 
their  guest  in  the  pick-room.  He  was  truly  glad  to  see 
them,  and  to  get  the  nice  breakfast  they  had  brought ; 
and  the  little  girls,  having  now  lost  all  fear  of  him,  sat 
down  on  a  pile  of  cotton  to  have  a  talk  with  him. 

"  Did  you  always  b'long  to  Mr.  Tight-fis'  Smith  ?"  asked 
Diddie. 

"  No,  honey ;  he  bought  me  fum  de  Powell  'state,  an'  I 
ain't  b'longst  ter  him  no  mo'n  'boutn  fo'  years." 


bringin'  'im  the  picnic." 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  173 

*'  Is  he  got  any  little  girls?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  No,  missy ;  his  wife  an'  two  chil'en  wuz  bu'nt  up  on 
de  steamboat  gwine  ter  New  'Leans,  some  twenty  years 
ergo ;  an'  de  folks  sez  dat's  wat  makes  'im  sich  er  kintan- 
krus  man.  Dey  sez  fo'  dat  he  usen  ter  hab  meetin'  on  his 
place,  an'  he  wuz  er  Christyun  man  hisse'f ;  but  he  got  mad 
'long  er  de  Lord  caze  de  steamboat  bu'nt  up,  an'  eber 
sence  dat  he's  been  er  mighty  wicked  man ;  an'  he  won't 
let  none  er  his  folks  sarve  de  Lord ;  an'  he  don't  'pyear 
ter  cyar  fur  nuffm'  'cep'n  hit's  money.  But  den,  honey, 
he  ain't  no  born  gemmun,  nohow ;  he's  jes  only  er  ober- 
seer  wat  made  'im  er  little  money,  an'  bought  'im  er  few 
niggers  ;  an',  I  tells  yer,  he  makes  'em  wuck,  too  ;  we'se  got 
ter  be  in  de  fiel'  long  fo'  day ;  an'  I  oberslep'  mysef  tudder 
mornin'  an'  he  wuz  cussin'  an'  er  gwine  on,  an'  'lowed  he 
wuz  er  gwine  ter  whup  me,  an'  so  I  des  up  an'  runned 
erway  fum  'im,  an'  now  I'se  skyeert  ter  go  back ;  an',  let 
erlone  dat,  I'se  skyeert  ter  stay ;  caze,  efn  he  gits  Mr. 
Upson's  dogs,  dey'll  trace  me  plum  hyear;  an'  wat  I  is 
ter  do  I  dunno ;  I  jes  prays  constunt  ter  de  Lord.  He'll 
he'p  me,  I  reckon,  caze  I  prays  tree  times  eby  day,  an' 
den  in  'tween  times." 

"  Is  your  name  Brer  Dan'l?"  asked  Dumps,  who  remem- 
bered Uncle  Bob's  story  of  Daniel's  praying  three  times  a 
day. 


174  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  No,  honey,  my  name's  Pomp ;  but  den  I'm  er  prayin* 
man,  des  same  ez  Dan'l  wuz." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Pomp,"  said  Diddie,  "  you  stay  here  just 
as  long  as  you  can,  an'  I'll  ask  papa  to  see  Mr.  Tight-fis 
Smith,  an'  he'll  get — " 

"  Lor',  chile,"  interrupted  Uncle  Pomp,  "  don't  tell  yer 
pa  nuf  'n  'boutn  it ;  he'll  sho'  ter  sen'  me  back,  an'  dat 
man'll  beat  me  half  ter  def :  caze  I'se  mos'  loss  er  week's 
time  now,  an'  hit's  er  mighty  'tickler  time  in  de  crap." 

"But,  s'posin'  the  dogs  might  come?"  said  Dumps. 

"  Well,  honey,  dey  ain't  come  yit ;  an'  wen  dey  duz 
come,  den  hit'll  be  time  fur  ter  tell  yer  pa." 

"  Anyhow,  we'll  bring  you  something  to  eat,"  said  Did- 
die, "  and  try  and  help  you  all  we  can ;  but  we  must  go 
back  now,  befo'  Mammy  hunts  for  us;  so  good-bye;"  and 
again  they  left  him  to  himself. 

As  they  neared  the  house,  Dumps  asked  Diddie  how 
far  it  was  to  Mr.  "  Tight-fis'  Smith's." 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  Diddie ;  "  'bout  three 
miles,  I  think." 

"  Couldn't  we  walk  there,  an'  ask  htm  not  to  whup  Un- 
cle Pomp  ?  Maybe  he  wouldn't,  ef  we  was  ter  beg  him 
right  hard." 

"  Yes,  that's  jest  what  we'll  do,  Dumps ;  and  we'll  get 
Dilsey  to  go  with  us,  'cause  she  knows  the  way." 

Dilsey  was  soon  found,  and  was  very  willing  to  accom- 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  175 

pany  them,  but  was  puzzled  to  know  why  they  wanted  to 
go.  The  children,  however,  would  not  gratify  her  curios- 
ity, and  they  started  at  once,  so  as  to  be  back  in  time  for 
dinner. 

It  was  all  of  three  miles  to  Mr.  Smith's  plantation,  and 
the  little  girls  were  very  tired  long  before  they  got  there. 
Dumps,  indeed,  almost  gave  out,  and  once  began  to  cry, 
and  only  stopped  with  Diddie's  reminding  her  of  poor 
Uncle  Pomp,  and  with  Dilsey's  carrying  her  a  little  way. 

At  last,  about  two  o'clock,  they  reached  Mr.  Smith's 
place.  The  hands  had  just  gone  out  into  the  field  after 
dinner,  and  of  course  their  master,  who  was  only  a  small 
planter  and  kept  no  overseer,  was  with  them.  The  chil- 
dren found  the  doors  all  open,  and  went  in. 

The  house  was  a  double  log-cabin,  with  a  hall  between, 
and  they  entered  the  room  on  the  right,  which  seemed  to 
be  the  principal  living-room.  There  was  a  shabby  old  bed 
in  one  corner,  with  the  cover  all  disarranged,  as  if  its  oc- 
cupant had  just  left  it.  A  table,  littered  with  unwashed 
dishes,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  one  or  two 
rude  split-bottomed  chairs  completed  the  furniture. 

The  little  girls  were  frightened  at  the  unusual  silence 
about  the  place,  as  well  as  the  dirt  and  disorder,  but,  be- 
ing very  tired,  they  sat  down  to  rest. 

"  Diddie,"  asked  Dumps,  after  a  little  time,  "  ain't  yer 

scared  ?" 
12 


1 7 6  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  scared,  Dumps,"  replied  Diddie; 
'  but  I'm  not  right  comfor'ble." 

" Pm  scared,"  said  Dumps.  "I'm  jes  ez  fraid  of  Mr. 
Tight-fis'  Smith !" 

"  Dat's  hit !"  said  Dilsey.  "  Now  yer  talkin',  Miss 
Dumps ;  dat's  er  mean  wite  man,  an'  he  mighter  git  mad 
erlong  us,  an'  take  us  all  fur  his  niggers." 

"  But  we  ain't  black,  Diddie  an'  me,"  said  Dumps. 

"  Dat  don't  make  no  diffunce  ter  him ;  he  des  soon  hab 
wite  niggers  ez  black  uns,"  remarked  Dilsey,  consolingly; 
and  Dumps,  being  now  thoroughly  frightened,  said, 

"  Well,  I'm  er  goin'  ter  put  my  pen'ence  in  de  Lord. 
I'm  er  goin'  ter  pray." 

Diddie  and  Dilsey  thought  this  a  wise  move,  and,  the 

three  children  kneeling  down,  Dumps  began, 

"  Now,  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

And  just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Smith,  returning  from  the 

field,  was  surprised  to  hear  a  voice  proceeding  from  the 

house,  and,  stepping  lightly  to  the  window,  beheld,  to  his 

amazement,  the  three  children  on  their  knees,  with  their 

eyes  tightly  closed  and  their  hands  clasped,  while  Dumps 

was  saying,  with  great  fervor, 

"  If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take ; 
An'  this  I  ask  for  Jesus'  sake." 

"  Amen !"  reverently  responded  Diddie  and  Dilsey;  and 
they  all  rose  from  their  knees  much  comforted. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  177 

"  I  ain't  'fraid  uv  him  now,"  said  Dumps,  "  'cause  I 
b'lieve  the  Lord'll  he'p  us,  an'  not  let  Mr.  Tight-fis'  Smith 
git  us." 

"  I  b'lieve  so  too,"  said  Diddie ;  and,  turning  to  the 
window,  she  found  Mr.  Smith  watching  them. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Tight-fis'  Smith?"  asked  Diddie,  timidly. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Smith,  and  I  have  heard  that  I  am  called 
'  tight -fasted'  in  the  neighborhood,"  he  replied,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Well,  we  are  Major  Waldron's  little  girls,  Diddie  and 
Dumps,  an'  this  is  my  maid,  Dilsey,  an'  we've  come  ter 
see  yer  on  business." 

"On  business,  eh?"  replied  Mr.  Smith,  stepping  in  at 
the  low  window.  "  Well,  what's  the  business,  little  ones  ?" 
and  he  took  a  seat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  regarded 
them  curiously.  But  here  Diddie  stopped,  for  she  felt  it 
was  a  delicate  matter  to  speak  to  this  genial,  pleasant- 
faced  old  man  of  cruelty  to  his  own  slaves.  Dumps,  how- 
ever, was  troubled  with  no  such  scruples ;  and,  finding 
that  Mr.  Smith  was  not  so  terrible  as  she  had  feared,  she 
approached  him  boldly,  and,  standing  by  his  side,  she  laid 
one  hand  on  his  gray  head,  and  said  : 

"  Mr.  Smith,  we've  come  ter  beg  you  please  not  ter 
whup  Uncle  Pomp  if  he  comes  back.  He  is  runned  erway, 
an'  me  an'  Diddie  know  where  he  is,  an'  we've  ben  feedin' 
him,  an'  we  don't  want  you  ter  whup  him  ;  will  you  please 


178  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

don't  ?"  and  Dumps's  arm  slipped  down  from  the  old  man's 
head,  until  it  rested  around  his  neck  ;  and  Mr.  Smith,  look- 
ing into  her  eager,  childish  face,  and  seeing  the  blue  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  thought  of  the  little  faces  that  long  years 
ago  had  looked  up  to  his ;  and,  bending  his  head,  he  kissed 
the  rosy  mouth. 

"  You  won't  whup  him,  will  you  ?"  urged  Dumps. 

"  Don't  you  think  he  ought  to  be  punished  for  running 
away  and  staying  all  this  time,  when  I  needed  him  in  the 
crop?"  asked  Mr.  Smith,  gently. 

"  But,  indeed,  he  is  punished,"  said  Diddie  ;  "  he  was  al- 
most starved  to  death  when  me  and  Dumps  carried  him  the 
picnic ;  and  then  he  is  so  scared,  he's  been  punished,  Mr. 
Smith ;  so  please  let  him  come  home,  and  don't  whup  him." 

"  Yes,  PLE-EE-ASE  promise,"  said  Dumps,  tightening  her 
hold  on  his  neck ;  and  Mr.  Smith,  in  memory  of  the  little 
arms  that  once  clung  round  him,  and  the  little  fingers  that 
in  other  days  clasped  his,  said  : 

"  Well,  I'll  promise,  little  ones.  Pomp  may  come  home, 
and  I'll  not  whip  or  punish  him  in  any  way  ;"  and  then  he 
kissed  them  both,  and  said  they  must  have  a  lunch  with 
him,  and  then  he  would  take  them  home  and  bring  Pomp 
back  ;  for  he  was  astonished  to  learn  that  they  had  walked 
so  long  a  distance,  and  would  not  hear  of  their  walking 
back,  though  Diddie  persisted  that  they  must  go,  as  they 
had  stolen  off,  and  nobody  knew  where  they  were. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot,  1 79 

He  made  the  cook  bake  them  some  hot  corn  hoe-cakes 
and  boil  them  some  eggs  ;  and  while  she  was  fixing  it,  and 
getting  the  fresh  butter  and  buttermilk  to  add  to  the  meal, 
Mr.  Smith  took  them  to  the  June  apple-tree,  and  gave 
them  just  as  many  red  apples  as  they  wanted  to  eat,  and 
some  to  take  home  to  Tot.  And  Dumps  told  him  all 
about  "Old  Billy"  and  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  and  the 
old  man  laughed,  and  enjoyed  it  all,  for  he  had  no  rela- 
tives or  friends,  and  lived  entirely  alone  —  a  stern,  cold 
man,  whose  life  had  been  embittered  by  the  sudden  loss 
of  his  loved  ones,  and  it  had  been  many  weary  years  since 
he  had  heard  children's  voices  chatting  and  laughing  un- 
der the  apple-tree. 

After  the  lunch,  which  his  guests  enjoyed  very  much, 
Mr.  Smith  had  a  little  donkey  brought  out  for  Dilsey  to 
ride,  and,  taking  Diddie  behind  him  on  his  horse,  and 
Dumps  in  his  arms,  he  started  with  them  for  home. 

There  was  but  one  saddle,  so  Dilsey  was  riding  "  bare- 
back," and  had  to  sit  astride  of  the  donkey  to  keep  from 
falling  off,  which  so  amused  the  children  that  merry  peals 
of  laughter  rang  out  from  time  to  time ;  indeed,  Dumps 
laughed  so  much,  that,  if  Mr.  Smith  had  not  held  her 
tightly,  she  certainly  would  have  fallen  off.  But  it  was 
not  very  funny  to  Dilsey;  she  held  on  with  all  her 
might  to  the  donkey's  short  mane,  and  even  then  could 
scarcely  keep  her  seat.  She  was  highly  indignant  with 
the  children  for  'a"ehing  at  her,  and  said. 


180  Diddie^  Dumps ;  and  Tot. 

"  I  dunno  wat  yer  kill'n  yerse'f  laffin'  'bout,  got  me  er 
settin'  on  dis  hyear  beas' ;  I  ain't  gwine  wid  yer  no  mo'." 

Major  Waldron  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  as  the  cav- 
alcade came  up,  and  was  surprised  to  see  his  little  daugh- 
ters with  Mr.  Smith,  and  still  more  so  to  learn  that  they 
had  walked  all  the  way  to  his  house  on  a  mission  of  mercy ; 
but  being  a  kind  man,  and  not  wishing  to  check  the  germs 
of  love  and  sympathy  in  their  young  hearts,  he  forbore  to 
scold  them,  and  went  with  them  and  Mr.  Smith  to  the 
gin-house  for  the  runaway. 

On  reaching  the  pick-room,  the  children  went  in  alone, 
and  told  Uncle  Pomp  that  his  master  had  come  for  him, 
and  had  promised  not  to  punish  him ;  but  still  the  old 
man  was  afraid  to  go  out,  and  stood  there  in  alarm  till 
Mr.  Smith  called : 

"  Come  out,  Pomp !  I'll  keep  my  promise  to  the  little 
ones ;  you  shall  not  be  punished  in  any  way.  Come  out, 
and  let's  go  home." 

And  Uncle  Pomp  emerged  from  his  hiding-place,  pre- 
senting a  very  ludicrous  spectacle,  with  his  unwashed  face 
and  uncombed  hair,  and  the  dirty  cotton  sticking  to  his 
clothes. 

"  Ef 'n  yer'll  furgib  de  ole  nigger  dis  time,  marster,  he 

ain't  neber  gwinc  run  erway  no  mo' ;  an',  mo'n  dat,  he 

gwine  ter  make  speshul  'spress  'rangemunce  fur  ter  git  up 

sooner  in  de  mornin' ;  he  is  dat,  jes  sho's  yer  born  !"  said 

he  old  ne^ro,  as  he  came  before  his  master. 


Diddi'e,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  18  r 

"  Don't  make  too  many  promises,  Pomp,"  kindly  replied 
Mr.  Smith;  "  we  will  both  try  to  do  better;  at  any  rate, 
you  shall  not  be  punished  this  time.  Now  take  your  leave 
of  your  kind  little  friends,  and  let's  get  towards  home ;  we 
are  losing  lots  of  time  this  fine  day." 

"  Good-bye,  little  misses,"  said  Uncle  Pomp,  grasping 
Diddie's  hand  in  one  of  his  and  Dumps's  in  the  other; 
"  good-bye  ;  I  gwine  pray  fur  yer  bof  ev'y  night  wat  de 
Lord  sen' ;  an',  mo'n  dat,  I  gwine  fotch  yer  some  pattridge 
aigs  de  fus'  nes'  wat  I  fin's." 

And  Uncle  Pomp  mounted  the  donkey  that  Dilsey  had 
ridden,  and  rode  off  with  his  master,  while  Diddie  and 
Dumps  climbed  on  top  of  the  fence  to  catch  the  last 
glimpse  of  them,  waving  their  sun-bonnets  and  calling  out, 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Tight-fis'  Smith  and  Uncle  Pomp." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  FOURTH   OF  JULY. 

•"■  I  "HE  glorious  Fourth"  was  always  a  holiday  on  every 
Southern  plantation,  and,  of  course,  Major  Wal- 
dron's  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  His  negroes  not 
only  had  holiday,  but  a  barbecue,  and  it  was  a  day  of 
general  mirth  and  festivity. 

On  this  particular  "  Fourth  "  the  barbecue  was  to  be  on 
the  banks  of  the  creek  formed  by  the  back-waters  of  the 
river,  and  was  to  be  a  "  fish-fry"  as  well  as  a  barbecue. 

All  hands  on  the  plantation  were  up  by  daylight,  and 
preparing  for  the  frolic.  Some  of  the  negro  men,  indeed, 
had  been  down  to  the  creek  all  night  setting  out  their 
fish-baskets  and  getting  the  "pit"  ready  for  the  meats. 
The  pit  was  a  large  hole,  in  which  a  fire  was  kindled  to 
roast  the  animals,  which  were  suspended  over  it ;  and  they 
must  commence  the  barbecuing  very  early  in  the  morning, 
in  order  to  get  everything  ready  by  dinner-time.  The 
children  were  as  much  excited  over  it  as  the  negroes  were 
and  Mammy  could  hardly  keep  them  still  enough  to  dres.r 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  183 

them,  they  were  so  eager  to  be  off.  Major  and  Mrs.  Wal- 
dron  were  to  go  in  the  light  carriage,  but  the  little  folks 
were  to  go  with  Mammy  and  Aunt  Milly  in  the  spring- 
wagon,  along  with  the  baskets  of  provisions  for  the  "  white 
folks'  tables ;"  the  bread  and  vegetables  and  cakes  and 
pastry  for  the  negroes'  tables  had  been  sent  off  in  a  large 
wagon,  and  were  at  the  place  for  the  barbecue  long  before 
the  white  family  started  from  home.  The  negroes,  too, 
had  all  gone.  Those  who  were  not  able  to  walk  had  gone 
in  wagons,  but  most  of  them  had  walked,  for  it  was  only 
about  three  miles  from  the  house. 

Despite  all  their  efforts  to  hurry  up  Mammy,  it  was 
nearly  nine  o'clock  before  the  children  could  get  her  off; 
and  even  then  she  didn't  want  to  let  Cherubim  and  Sera- 
phim go,  and  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob,  who  was  driving  the 
wagon,  had  to  add  his  entreaties  to  those  of  the  little 
folks  before  she  would  consent  at  all ;  and  after  that  mat- 
ter had  been  decided,  and  the  baskets  all  packed  in,  and 
the  children  all  comfortably  seated,  and  Dilsey  and  Chris 
and  Riar  squeezed  into  the  back  of  the  wagon  between 
the  ice-cream  freezer  and  the  lemonade  buckets,  and  Cher- 
ubim and  Seraphim  in  the  children's  laps,  and  Mammy 
and  Aunt  Milly  on  two  split-bottomed  chairs,  just  back 
of  the  driver's  seat,  and  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob,  with  the 
reins  in  his  hands,  just  ready  to  drive  off — whom  should 
they  see  but  Old  Daddy  Jake  coming  down  the  avenue, 
nnd  waving  his  hat  for  them  to  wait  for  him. 


184  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Dar  now !"  said  Mammy ;  "  de  folks  done  gone  an'  lef 
Ole  Daddy,  an'  we  got  ter  stuff  'im  in  hyear  somewhar." 

"  They  ain't  no  room  in  hyear,"  said  Dumps,  tightening 
her  grasp  on  Cherubim,  for  she  strongly  suspected  that 
Mammy  would  insist  on  leaving  the  puppies  to  make 
room  for  Daddy. 

"  Well,  he  ain't  got  ter  be  lef,"  said  Mammy ;  "  I  wuz 
allers  larnt  ter  'spect  ole  folks  myse'f,  an'  ef'n  dis  wagin 
goes,  why  den  Daddy  Jake's  got  ter  go  in  it ;"  and,  Major 
and  Mrs.  Waldron  having  gone,  Mammy  was  the  next 
highest  in  command,  and  from  her  decision  there  was  no 
appeal. 

"How  come  yer  ter  git  lef,  Daddy?"  asked  Uncle 
Snake-bit  Bob,  as  the  old  man  came  up  hobbling  on  his 
stick. 

"  Well,  yer  see,  chile,  I  wuz  er  lightin'  uv  my  pipe,  an' 
er  fixin'  uv  er  new  stim  in  it,  an'  I  nuber  notus  wen  de 
wagins  went  off.  Yer  see  I'm  er  gittin'  er  little  deef  in 
deze  ole  yurs  uv  mine :  dey  ben  er  fasten't  on  ter  dis  ole 
nigger's  head  er  long  time,  uperds  uv  er  hunderd  years  or 
mo';  an'  de  time  hez  ben  wen  dey  could  hyear  de  leaves 
fall  uv  er  nights ;  but  dey  gittin'  out'n  fix  somehow ;  dey 
ain't  wuckin'  like  dey  oughter ;  an'  dey  jes  sot  up  dar,  an' 
let  de  wagins  drive  off,  an'  leave  de  ole  nigger  er  lightin' 
uv  his  pipe ;  an'  wen  I  got  thu,  an'  went  ter  de  do',  den  I 
hyeard  er  mighty  stillness  in  de  quarters,  an',  bless  yet 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  185 

heart,  de  folks  wuz  gone ;  an'  I  lookt  up  dis  way,  an'  I 
seed  de  wagin  hyear,  an'  I  'lowed  yer'd  all  gimme  er  lif ' 
some  way." 

"  Dem  little  niggers  '11  hatter  stay  at  home,"  said  Mam- 
my, sharply,  eying  the  little  darkies,  "  or  else  dey'll  hat- 
ter walk,  caze  Daddy's  got  ter  come  in  dis  wagin.  Now, 
you  git  out,  you  little  niggers." 

At  this,  Dilsey  and  Chris  and  Riar  began  to  unpack 
themselves,  crying  bitterly  the  while,  because  they  were 
afraid  to  walk  by  themselves,  and  they  knew  they  couldn't 
walk  fast  enough  to  keep  up  with  the  wagon  ;  but  here 
Diddie  came  to  the  rescue,  and  persuaded  Uncle  Bob  to 
go  to  the  stable  and  saddle  Corbin,  and  all  three  of  the 
little  negroes  mounted  him,  and  rode  on  behind  the  wag- 
on, while  Daddy  Jake  was  comfortably  fixed  in  the  space 
they  had  occupied ;  and  now  they  were  fairly  off. 

"  Mammy,  what  does  folks  have  Fourf  of  Julys  for?" 
asked  Dumps,  after  a  little  while. 

"  I  dunno,  honey,"  answered  Mammy ;  "  I  hyearn  'em 
say  hit  wuz  'long  o'  some  fightin'  or  nuther  wat  de  wite 
folks  fit  one  time ;  but  whedder  dat  wuz  de  time  wat  Brer 
David  fit  Goliar  or  not,  I  dunno ;  I  ain't  hyeard  'em  say 
'bout  dat :  it  mout  er  ben  dat  time,  an'  den  ergin  it  mout 
er  ben  de  time  wat  Brer  Samson  kilt  up  de  folks  wid  de 
jawbone.  I  ain't  right  sho'  wat  time  hit  wuz ;  but  den  I 
knows  hit  wuz  some  fightin'  or  nuther." 


1 86  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  It  was  the  •  Declination  of  Independence,'  "  said  Did- 
die.  "  It's  in  the  little  history ;  and  it  wasn't  any  fightin', 
it  was  a  writin  ;  and  there's  the  picture  of  it  in  the  book : 
and  all  the  men  are  settin'  roun',  and  one  of 'em  is  writin'." 

"  Yes,  dat's  jes  wat  I  hyearn,"  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  I 
hyearn  'em  say  dat  dey  had  de  fuss'  Defemation  uv  Onde- 
pen'ence  on  de  fourf  uv  July,  an'  eber  sence  den  de  folks 
ben  er  habin'  holerday  an'* barbecues  on  dat  day." 

"What's  er  Defemation,  Uncle  Bob?"  asked  Dumps, 
who  possessed  an  inquiring  mind. 

"  Well,  I  mos'  furgits  de  zack  meanin',"  said  the  old 
man,  scratching  his  head  ;  "  hit's  some  kin'  er  writin',  do, 
jes  like  Miss  Diddie  say ;  but,  let  erlone  dat,  hit's  in  de 
squshionary,  an'  yer  ma  kin  fin'  hit  fur  yer,  an'  'splain  de 
zack  meanin'  uv  de  word ;  but  de  Defemation  uv  Onde- 
pen'ence,  hit  happened  on  de  fuss  fourf  uv  July,  an'  hit 
happens  ev'y  fourf  uv  July  sence  den  ;  an'  dat's  'cordin' 
ter  my  onderstandin'  uv  hit,"  said  Uncle  Bob,  whipping 
up  his  horses. 

"  What's  dat,  Brer  Bob  ?"  asked  Daddy  Jake ;  and  as 
soon  as  Uncle  Bob  had  yelled  at  him  Dumps's  query  and 
his  answer  to  it,  the  old  man  said : 

"  Yer  wrong,  Brer  Bob ;  I  'members  well  de  fus'  fourf 
uv  July;  hit  wuz  er  man,  honey.  Marse  Fofer  July  wuz 
er  man,  an'  de  day  wuz  name  atter  him.  He  wuz  er 
pow'ful  fightin'  man ;  but  den  who  it  wuz  he  fit  I  mos' 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  187 

furgot,  hit's  ben  so  long  ergo ;  but  I  'members,  do,  I  wuz 
er  right  smart  slip  uv  er  boy,  an'  I  went  wid  my  ole  mars- 
ter,  yer  pa's  gran'pa,  to  er  big  dinner  wat  dey  had  on  de 
Jeems  Riber,  in  ole  Furginny ;  an'  dat  day,  sar,  Marse 
Fofer  July  wuz  dar;  an'  he  made  er  big  speech  ter  de  wite 
folks,  caze  I  hyeard  'em  clappin'  uv  dey  han's.  I  nuber 
seed  'im,  but  I  hyeard  he  wuz  dar,  do,  an'  I  knows  he  wuz 
dar,  caze  I  sho'ly  hyeard  'em  clappin'  uv  dey  han's ;  an', 
'cordin'  ter  de  way  I  'members  bout'n  it,  dis  is  his  birf- 
day,  wat  de  folks  keeps  plum  till  yet,  caze  dey  ain't  no 
men  nowerdays  like  Marse  Fofer  July.  He  wuz  er  gre't 
man,  an'  he  had  sense,  too ;  an'  den,  'sides  dat,  he  wuz 
some  er  de  fus'  famblys  in  dem  days.  Wy,  his  folks  usen 
ter  visit  our  wite  folks.  I  helt  his  horse  fur  'im  de  many 
er  time  ;  an',  let  erlone  dat,  I  knowed  some  uv  his  niggers ; 
but  den  dat's  ben  er  long  time  ergo." 

"But  what  was  he  writin'  about,  Daddy?"  asked  Did- 
die,  who  remembered  the  picture  too  well  to  give  up  the 
"  writing  part." 

"  He  wuz  jes  signin'  some  kin'  er  deeds  or  sump'n," 
said  Daddy.  "  I  dunno  wat  he  wuz  writin'  erbout ;  but 
den  he  wuz  er  man,  caze  he  lived  in  my  recommembrunce, 
an'  I  done  seed  'im  myse'f." 

That  settled  the  whole  matter,  though  Diddie  was  not 
entirely  satisfied  ;  but,  as  the  wagon  drove  up  to  the  creek 
bank  just  then,  she  was  too  much  interested  in  the  barbe- 
cue to  care  very  much  for  "  Marse  Fofer  July." 


1 88  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

The  children  all  had  their  fishing-lines  and  hooks,  and 
as  soon  as  they  were  on  the  ground  started  to  find  a  good 
place  to  fish.  Dilsey  got  some  bait  from  the  negro  boys, 
and  baited  the  hooks ;  and  it  was  a  comical  sight  to  see 
all  of  the  children,  white  and  black,  perched  upon  the 
roots  of  trees  or  seated  flat  on  the  ground,  watching  in- 
tently their  hooks,  which  they  kept  bobbing  up  and  down 
so  fast  that  the  fish  must  have  been  very  quick  indeed  to 
catch  them. 

They  soon  wearied  of  such  dull  sport,  and  began  to  set 
their  wits  to  work  to  know  what  to  do  next. 

"Le's  go  'possum-huntin',"  suggested  Dilsey. 

"  There  ain't  any  'possums  in  the  daytime,"  said  Diddie, 

"Yes  dey  is,  Miss  Diddie,  lots  uv  'cm  ;  folks  jes  goes  at 
night  fur  ter  save  time.  I  knows  how  ter  hunt  fur  'pos- 
sums; I  kin  tree  'em  jes  same  ez  er  c '  og." 

And  the  children,  delighted  at  th;  novelty  of  the  thing, 
all  started  off  "  'possum-hunting,"  for  Mammy  was  help- 
ing unpack  the  dinner-baskets,  and  was  not  watching  them 
just  then.  They  wandered  off  some  distance,  climbing 
over  logs  and  falling  into  mud-puddles,  for  they  all  had 
their  heads  thrown  back  and  their  faces  turned  up  to  the 
trees,  looking  for  the  'possums,  and  thereby  missed  see- 
ing the  impediments  in  the  way. 

At  length  Dilsey  called  out,  "  Hyear  he  is !  Hyear  de 
'possum  !"  and  they  all  came  to  a  dead  halt  under  a  largq 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  189 

oak-tree,  which  Dilsey  and  Chris,  and  even  Diddie  and 
Dumps,  I  regret  to  say,  prepared  to  climb.  But  the  climb- 
ing consisted  mostly  in  active  and  fruitless  endeavors  to 
make  a  start,  for  Dilsey  was  the  only  one  of  the  party 
who  got  as  much  as  three  feet  from  the  ground ;  but  she 
actually  did  climb  up  until  she  reached  the  first  limb,  and 
then  crawled  along  it  until  she  got  near  enough  to  shake 
off  the  'possum,  which  proved  to  be  a  big  chunk  of  wpod 
that  had  lodged  up  there  from  a  falling  branch,  probably ; 
and  when  Dilsey  shook  the  limb  it  fell  down  right  upon 
Riar's  upturned  face,  and  made  her  nose  bleed. 

"  Wat  you  doin',  you  nigger  you  ?"  demanded  Riar, 
angrily,  as  she  wiped  the  blood  from  her  face.  "  I  dar'  yer 
ter  come  down  out 'n  dat  tree,  an'  I'll  beat  de  life  out'n 
yer;  I'll  larn  yer  who  ter  be  shakin'  chunks  on." 

"  In  vain  did  Dilsey  apologize,  and  say  she  thought  it 
was  a  "  'possum  ;"  Riar  would  listen  to  no  excuse ;  and  as 
soon  as  Dilsey  reached  the  ground  they  had  a  rough- 
and-tumble  fight,  in  which  both  parties  got  considerably 
worsted  in  the  way  of  losing  valuable  hair,  and  of  having 
their  eyes  filled  with  dirt  and  their  clean  dresses  all  mud- 
died ;  but  Tot  was  so  much  afraid  Riar,  her  little  nurse  and 
maid,  would  get  hurt  that  she  screamed  and  cried,  and  re- 
fused to  be  comforted  until  the  combatants  suspended  active 
hostilities,  though  they  kept  up  quarrelling  for  some  time, 
even  after  they  had  recommenced  their  search  for  'possums. 


190  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

"  Dilsey  don't  know  how  to  tree  no  'possums,"  said 
Riar,  contemptuously,  after  they  had  walked  for  some 
time,  and  anxiously  looked  up  into  every  tree  they  passed. 
"Yes  I  kin,"  retorted  Dilsey;  "I  kin  tree  'em  jes  ez 
same  ez  er  dog,  ef 'n  dar's  any  'possums  fur  ter  tree ;  but 
I  can't  make  'possums,  do ;  an'  ef  dey  ain't  no  'possums, 
den  I  can't  tree  'em,  dat's  all." 

"  Maybe  they  don't  come  out  on  the  Fourf  uv  July," 
said  Dumps.  "  Maybe  'possums  keeps  it  same  as  peo- 
ples." 

"  Now,  maybe  dey  duz,"  said  Dilsey,  who  was  glad  to 
have  some  excuse  for  her  profitless  'possum-hunting;  and 
the  children,  being  fairly  tired  out,  started  back  to  the 
creek  bank,  when  they  came  upon  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob, 
wandering  through  the  woods,  and  looking  intently  on 
the  ground. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for,  Uncle  Bob?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Des  er  few  buckeyes,  honey,"  answered  the  old  man. 

"  What  you  goin'  ter  do  with  'em  ?"  asked  Dumps,  as 
the  little  girls  joined  him  in  his  search. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  ter  die  no  drunkard,  myse'f,"  said 
Uncle  Bob,  whose  besetting  sin  was  love  of  whiskey. 

"  Does  buckeyes  keep  folks  from  dying  drunkards  ?" 
asked  Dumps. 

"  Dat's  wat  dey  sez ;  an'  I  'lowed  I'd  lay  me  in  er  few. 
caze  I've  allers  hyearn  dat  dem  folks  wat  totes  a  buckeye 


Diddie,  Dumps \  and  Tot.  191 

in  dey  lef  britches  pocket,  an'  den  ernudder  in  de  right- 
nan'  coat  pocket,  dat  dey  ain't  gwine  die  no  drunkards." 

"  But  if  they  would  stop  drinkin'  whiskey  they  wouldn't 
die  drunkards  anyhow,  would  they,  Uncle  Bob?" 

"  Well,  I  dunno,  honey;  yer  pinnin'  de  ole  nigger  mighty 
close  ;  de  whiskey  mout  hab  sump'n  ter  do  wid  it ;  I  ain't 
sputin'  dat — but  wat  I  stan's  on  is  dis :  dem  folks  wat  I 
seed  die  drunk,  dey  nuber  had  no  buckeyes  in  dey  pock- 
ets ;  caze  I  'members  dat  oberseer  wat  Marse  Brunson 
had,  he  died  wid  delirums  treums,  an'  he  runned,  he  did, 
fur  ter  git  'way  fum  de  things  wat  he  seed  atter  him  ;  an' 
he  jumped  into  de  riber,  an'  he  got  drownded ;  an*  I  wuz 
dar  wen  dey  pulled  'im  out ;  an'  I  sez  ter  Brer  John  Small, 
who  wuz  er  standin'  dar,  sez  I,  now  I  lay  yer  he  ain't  got 
no  buckeyes  in  his  pockets ;  and  wid  dat  me  'n  Brer  John 
we  tuck  'n  turnt  his  pockets  wrong  side  outerds ;  an', 
bless  yer  soul,  chile,  hit  wuz  jes  like  I  say;  DAR  Wa'n'T 
NO  BUCKEYES  DAR !  Well,  I'd  b'lieved  in  de  ole  sayin' 
befo',  but  dat  jes  kin'ter  sot  me  on  it  fas'er  'n  eber;  an'  I 
don't  cyare  wat  de  wedder  is,  nor  wat  de  hurry  is ;  hit  may 
rain  an'  hit  may  shine,  an'  de  time  may  be  er  pressin',  but 
ole  Bob  he  don't  stir  out'n  his  house  mornin's  'cep'n  he's 
got  buckeyes  in  his  pockets.  But  I  seed  'em  gittin' 
ready  fur  dinner  as  I  corned  erlong,  an'  you  chil'en  better 
be  er  gittin'  toerds  de  table." 

That  was  enough  for  the  little  folks,  and  they  hurried 


192  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

back  to  the  creek.  The  table  was  formed  by  driving  posts 
into  the  ground,  and  laying  planks  across  them,  and  had 
been  fixed  up  the  day  before  by  some  of  the  men.  The 
dinner  was  excellent — barbecued  mutton  and  shote  and 
lamb  and  squirrels,  and  very  fine  "  gumbo,"  and  plenty  of 
vegetables  and  watermelons  and  fruits,  and  fresh  fish 
which  the  negroes  had  caught  in  the  seine,  for  none  of 
the  anglers  had  been  successful. 

Everybody  was  hungry,  for  they  had  had  very  early 
breakfast,  and,  besides,  it  had  been  a  fatiguing  day,  for 
most  of  the  negroes  had  walked  the  three  miles,  and  then 
had  danced  and  played  games  nearly  all  the  morning,  and 
so  they  were  ready  for  dinner.  And  everybody  seemed 
very  happy  and  gay  except  Mammy ;  she  had  been  so 
upset  at  the  children's  torn  dresses  and  dirty  faces  that 
she  could  not  regain  her  good-humor  all  at  once ;  and 
then,  too,  Dumps  had  lost  her  sun-bonnet,  and  there  were 
some  unmistakable  freckles  across  her  little  nose,  and  so 
Mammy  looked  very  cross,  and  grumbled  a  good  deal, 
though  her  appetite  seemed  good,  and  she  did  full  justice 
to  the  barbecue. 

Now  Mammy  had  some  peculiar  ideas  of  her  own  as  to 
the  right  and  proper  way  for  ladies  to  conduct  themselves, 
and  one  of  her  theories  was  that  no  white  lady  should 
ever  eat  heartily  in  company ;  she  might  eat  between 
meals,  if  desired,  or  even  go  back  after  the  meal  was  over 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  193 

and  satisfy  her  appetite ;  but  to  sit  down  with  a  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  and  make  a  good  "  square  "  meal, 
Mammy  considered  very  ungenteel  indeed.  This  idea 
she  was  always  trying  to  impress  upon  the  little  girls,  so 
as  to  render  them  as  ladylike  as  possible  in  the  years  to 
come ;  and  on  this  occasion,  as  there  were  quite  a  number 
of  the  families  from  the  adjacent  plantations  present,  she 
was  horrified  to  see  Dumps  eating  as  heartily,  and  with  as 
evident  satisfaction,  as  if  she  had  been  alone  in  the  nursery 
at  home.  Diddie,  too,  had  taken  her  second  piece  of  bar- 
becued  squirrel,  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying  it  very  much, 
when  a  shake  of  Mammy's  head  reminded  her  of  the  im- 
propriety of  such  a  proceeding ;  so  she  laid  aside  the  squir- 
rel, and  minced  delicately  over  some  less  substantial  food. 
The  frowns  and  nods,  however,  were  thrown  away  upon 
Dumps ;  she  ate  of  everything  she  wanted  until  she  was 
fully  satisfied,  and  I  grieve  to  say  that  her  papa  encouraged 
her  in  such  unladylike  behavior  by  helping  her  liberally 
to  whatever  she  asked  for. 

But  after  the  dinner  was  over,  and  after  the  darkies  had 
played  and  danced  until  quite  late,  and  after  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  had  had  several  very  interesting  games  of 
euchre  and  whist,  and  after  the  little  folks  had  wandered 
about  as  much  as  they  pleased — swinging  on  grape-vines 
and  riding  on  "saplings,"  and  playing  "base  "and  "  steal 
ing  goods,"  and  tiring  themselves  out  generally — and  aftei 


194  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

they  had  been  all  duly  stowed  away  in  the  spring-wagon 
and  had  started  for  home,  then  Mammy  began  at  Dumps 
about  her  unpardonable  appetite. 

"  But  I  was  hungry,  Mammy,"  apologized  the  little  girl. 

"  I  don't  cyar  ef 'n  yer  wuz,"  replied  Mammy ;  "  dat 
ain't  no  reason  fur  yer  furgittin'  yer  manners,  an'  stuffin' 
yerse'f  right  fo'  all  de  gemmuns.  Miss  Diddie  dar,  she 
burhavt  like  er  little  lady,  jes  kinter  foolin'  wid  her  knife 
an'  fork,  an'  nuber  eatin  nuffin'  hardly ;  an'  dar  you  wuz 
jes  er  pilin'  in  shotes  an'  lams  an'  squ'ls,  an'  roas'n  yurs, 
an'  pickles  an'  puddin's  an'  cakes  an'  watermillions,  tell  I 
wuz  dat  shame  fur  ter  call  yer  marster's  darter !" 

And  poor  little  Dumps,  now  that  the  enormity  of  her 
sin  was  brought  home  to  her,  and  the  articles  eaten  so 
carefully  enumerated,  began  to  feel  very  much  like  a  boa- 
constrictor,  and  the  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  as  Mammy 
continued: 

"  I  done  nust  er  heap  er  chiJ'en  in  my  time,  but  I  ain't 
nuber  seed  no  wite  chile  eat  fo'  de  gemmuns  like  you  duz. 
It  pyears  like  I  can't  nuber  larn  you  no  manners,  nohow." 

"  Let  de  chile  erlone,  Sis  Rachel,"  interposed  Uncle 
Bob ;  "  she  ain't  no  grown  lady,  an'  I  seed  marster  he'p'n 
uv  her  plate  hisse'f ;  she  nuber  eat  none  too  much,  con- 
sid'n  hit  wuz  de  Fourf  uv  July." 

"  Didn't  I  eat  no  shotes  an'  lambs,  Uncle  Bob?"  asked 
Dumps,  wiping  her  eyes. 


"SWINGING   ON   GRAPE-VINES   AND    RIDING   ON    SAPLINGS." 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  197 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  yer  did,'  said  Uncle  Bob.  "  I  seed  yer 
eat  er  squ'l  or  two,  an'  er  few  fish,  likely;  an'  dem,  wid  er 
sprinklin'  uv  roas'n  yurs  an'  cakes,  wuz  de  mos'  wat  I 
seed  yer  eat." 

"  An'  dat  wuz  too  much,"  said  Mammy,  "  right  befo'  de 
gemmuns." 

But  Dumps  was  comforted  at  Uncle  Bob's  moderate 
statement  of  the  case,  and  so  Mammy's  lecture  lost  much 
of  its  intended  severity. 

As  they  were  driving  through  the  grove  before  reaching 
the  house  it  was  quite  dark,  and  they  heard  an  owl  hoot- 
ing in  one  of  the  trees. 

"  I  see  yer  keep  on  sayin'  yer  sass,"  said  Daddy  Jake, 
addressing  the  owl.  "  Ef 'n  I'd  er  done  happen  ter  all  you 
is  'bout'n  hit,  I'd  let  hit  erlone  myse'f." 

"  What's  he  sayin'?"  asked  Diddie. 

"  Wy,  don't  yer  hyear  him,  honey,  er  sayin, 

"  Who  cooks  fur  you-oo-a? 
Who  cooks  fur  you-oo-a  ? 
Ef  you'll  cook  for  my  folks, 
Den  I'll  cook  fur  y'all-1-111?" 

"  Well,  hit  wuz  'long  er  dat  very  chune  wat  he  los'  his 
eyes,  an'  can't  see  no  mo'  in  de  daytime ;  an'  ef 'n  I  wuz 
him,  I'd  let  folks'  cookin'  erlone." 

"Can't  you  tell  us  about  it.  Daddy?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  I  ain't  got  de  time  now,"  said  the  old  man,  "  caze 
hyear's  de  wagin  almos'  at  de  do' ;  an',  let  erlone  dat,  I 


198  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

ain't  nuber  hyeard  'twus  good  luck  ter  be  tellin'  no  tales  on 
de  Fourf  uv  July  ;  but  ef'n  yer  kin  come  ter  my  cabin 
some  ebenin'  wen  yer's  er  airin'  uv  yerse'fs,  den  I'll  tell 
yer  jes  wat  I  hyearn  'bout'n  de  owl,  an'  'struck  yer  in  er 
many  er  thing  wat  yer  don't  know  now." 

And  now  the  wagon  stopped  at  the  back  gate,  and  the 
little  girls  and  Mammy  and  the  little  darkies  got  out,  and 
Mammy  made  the  children  say  good-night  to  Daddy  Jake 
and  Uncle  Bob,  and  they  all  went  into  the  house  very 
tired  and  very  sleepy,  and  very  dirtyt  with  their  celebra- 
tion of  "  Marse  Fofer  July's  burfday." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"'STRUCK'N    UV  DE  CHIL'EN." 

IT  was  several  days  before  the  children  could  get  off  to 
Daddy  Jake's  cabin  to  hear  about  the  owl ;  but  on 
Saturday  evening,  after  dinner,  Mammy  said  they  might 
go ;  and,  having  promised  to  go  straight  to  Daddy  Jake's 
house,  and  to  come  home  before  dark,  they  all  started  off. 
Daddy  Jake  was  the  oldest  negro  on  the  plantation — 
perhaps  the  oldest  in  the  State.  He  had  been  raised  by 
Major  Waldron's  grandfather  in  Virginia,  and  remem- 
bered well  the  Revolutionary  War ;  and  then  he  had 
been  brought  to  Mississippi  by  Major  Waldron's  father, 
and  remembered  all  about  the  War  of  1812  and  the  trou- 
bles with  the  Indians.  It  had  been  thirty  years  or  more 
since  Daddy  Jake  had  done  any  work.  He  had  a  very 
comfortable  cabin ;  and  although  his  wives  (for  the  old 
man  had  been  married  several  times)  were  all  dead,  and 
many  of  his  children  were  now  old  and  infirm,  he  had 
a  number  of  grandchildren  and  great-grandchildren  who 
attended  to  his  wants ;   and  then,  too,  his  master  cared 


200  Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

very  particularly  for  his  comfort,  and  saw  that  Daddy 
Jake  had  good  fires,  and  that  his  clothes  were  kept  clean 
and  mended,  and  his  food  nicely  cooked ;  so  the  old  man 
passed  his  days  in  peace  and  quiet. 

The  children  found  him  now  lying  stretched  out  on  a 
bench  in  front  of  his  cabin,  while  Polly,  his  great-grand- 
daughter, was  scratching  and  "looking"  his  head. 

"  We've  come  for  you  to  tell  us  about  the  Owl,  Daddy," 
said  Diddie,  after  she  had  given  the  old  man  some  cake 
and  a  bottle  of  muscadine  wine  that  her  mother  had  sent 
to  him. 

"All  right,  little  misses,"  replied  Daddy;  and,  sitting 
up  on  the  bench,  he  lifted  Tot  beside  him,  while  Diddie 
and  Dumps  sat  on  the  door-sill,  and  Dilsey  and  Chris  and 
Riar  and  Polly  sat  flat  on  the  ground. 

"  Well,  yer  see  de  Owl,"  began  Daddy  Jake,  "  he  usen 
fur  ter  see  in  de  daytime  des  same  ez  he  do  now  in  de 
night ;  an'  one  time  he  wuz  in  his  kitchen  er  cookin'  uv  his 
dinner,  wen  hyear  come  de  Peafowl  er  struttin'  by.  Well, 
in  dem  days  de  Peafowl  he  nuber  had  none  er  dem  eyes 
on  his  tail  wat  he  got  now ;  his  tail  wuz  des  er  clean  blue." 

"Did  you  see  him,  Daddy?"  interrupted  Dumps. 

"  No,  honey,  I  ain't  seed  'im  wen  he  wuz  dat  way ;  dat 
wuz  fo'  my  time ;  but  den  I  know  hit's  de  truf,  do' ;  his 
tail  wuz  er  clar  blue  dout'n  no  eyes  on  it ;  an'  he  wuz  er 
pow'ful  proud  bird,  an',  'stid  er  him  'ten'in  ter  his  bizness, 


SUSS 


'"struck'n  uv  de  chil'en.' 


Diddle,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  203 

he  des  prumeraded  de  streets  an'  de  roads,  an'  he  felt 
hisse'f  too  big  fur  ter  ten'  ter  his  wuck.  Well,  de  Owl 
knowed  dat,  an'  so  wen  he  seed  de  Peafowl  walkin'  by  so 
big,  an'  him  in  de  kitchen  er  cookin',  it  kinter  hu't  his 
feelin's,  so  he  tuck'n  holler'd  at  de  Peafowl, 

"'Whooo  cooks  fur  you-oo-a? 
Whooo  cooks  fur  you-oo-a? 
I  cooks  fur  my  folks, 
But  who  cooks  fur  y'all-11-1  ?' 

"  Now  he  jes  done  dat  out'n  pyo'  sass'ness,  caze  he 
knowed  de  Peafowl  felt  hisse'f  'bove  cookin' ;  an'  wen  de 
Peafowl  hyeard  dat,  he  'gun  ter  git  mad ;  an'  he  'lowed 
dat  ef 'n  de  Owl  said  dat  ter  him  ergin  dey'd  be  er  fuss  on 
his  han's.  Well,  de  nex'  day  de  Owl  seed  him  comin',  an' 
he  'gun  fur  ter  scrape  out'n  his  pots  an'  skillets,  an'  ez  he 
scrope  'em  he  holler'd  out, 

"  '  Whoo  cooks  fur  you-oo-a  ? 
Whoo  cooks  fur  you-oo-a? 
Ef  you'll  cook  fur  my  folks, 
Den  I'll  cook  fur  y'all-11.' 

"  An'  wid  dat  de  Peafowl  tuck'n  bounct  him ;  an'  dai 
dey  had  it,  er  scrougin'  an'  er  peckin'  an'  er  clawin'  uv 
one  nudder;  an'  somehow,  in  de  skrummidge,  de  Owl's 
eyes  dey  got  skwushed  on  ter  de  Peafowl's  tail,  an'  fur  er 
long  time  he  couldn't  see  nuffin'  'tall ;  but  de  rattlesnake 
doctored  on  him." 

"  The  rattlesnake?"  asked  Diddie,  in  horror,. 


204  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot 

"  Hit's  true,  des  like  I'm  tellin'  yer,"  said  Daddy ;  "  hit 
wuz  de  rattlesnake ;  an'  dey's  de  bes'  doctors  dey  is 
'mongst  all  de  beases.  Yer  may  see  him  creepin'  'long 
thu  de  grass  like  he  don't  know  nuffin',  but  he  kin  doctor 
den." 

"  How  does  he  doctor,  Daddy?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  Now  you  chil'en  look  er  hyear,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  I 
ain't  gwine  ter  tell  yer  all  I  know  'bout'n  de  rattlesnake ; 
dar's  some  things  fur  ter  tell,  and  den  ergin  dar's  some 
things  fur  ter  keep  ter  yerse'f ;  an'  wat  dey  is  twix'  me 
an'  de  rattlesnake,  hit's  des  twix'  me'n  him ;  an'  you  ain't 
de  fust  ones  wat  want  ter  know  an'  couldn't.  Yer  may  ax, 
but  axin'  ain't  findin'  out  den ;  an',  mo'n  dat,  ef 'n  I'm  got 
ter  be  bothered  wid  axin'  uv  questions,  den  I  ain't  gwine 
obstruck  yer,  dat's  all." 

The  children  begged  his  pardon,  and  promised  not  to 
interrupt  again,  and  Daddy  Jake  continued  his  story. 

"  Yes,  de  rattlesnake  doctored  on  him,  an'  atter  er  wile  he 
got  so  he  could  see  some  uv  nights ;  but  he  can't  see 
much  in  de  daytime,  do ;  an'  ez  fur  de  Peafowl,  he  shuck 
an'  he  shuck  his  tail,  but  dem  spots  is  dar  tell  yit !  An' 
wen  he  foun'  he  couldn't  git  'em  off,  den  he  'gun  ter  'ten 
like  he  wuz  glad  uv  'em  on  dar,  and  dat  wat  makes  him 
spread  his  tail  and  ac'  so  foolish  in  de  spring  uv  de  year. 

"  Dey's  er  heap  uv  de  beases  done  ruint  deyse'fs  wid 
dey  cuttin's  up  an'  gwines  on,"  continued  Daddy  Jake 


Diddie,  Dicmps,  and  Tot.  205 

"  Now  dar's  de  Beaver,  he  usen  fur  te.r  hab  er  smoove 
roun'  tail  des  like  er  'possum's,  wat  wuz  er  heap  handier 
fur  him  ter  tote  dan  dat  flat  tail  wat  he  got  now ;  but  den 
he  wouldn't  let  de  frogs  erlone:  he  des  tored  down  dey 
houses  an'  devilled  'em,  till  dey  'lowed  dey  wouldn't  stan' 
it ;  an'  so,  one  moonshiny  night,  wen  he  wuz  er  stan'in  on 
de  bank  uv  er  mighty  swif  '-runnin'  creek,  ole  Brer  Bull- 
frog he  hollered  at  him, 

"  '  Come  over !  come  over !' 

"  He  knowed  de  water  wuz  too  swiff  fur  de  beaver,  but 
den  he  'lowed  ter  pay  him  back  fur  tearin'  down  his  house. 
Well,  de  Beaver  he  stood  dar  er  lookin'  at  de  creek,  an' 
by'mby  he  axes, 

"  '  How  deep  is  it?' 

"  '  Knee-deep,  knee-deep,'  answered  the  little  frogs.  An' 
de  Bullfrogs,  dey  kep'  er  sayin,  '  Come  over,  come  over ;' 
an'  de  little  frogs  kep'  er  hollin,'  '  Jus'  knee-keep ;  jus' 
knee- deep,'  tell  de  Beaver  he  pitched  in  fur  ter  swim 
'cross ;  an',  gemmun,  de  creek  wuz  so  deep,  an  de  water 
so  swiff,  tell  hit  put  'im  up  ter  all  he  knowed.  He  had 
ter  strain  an'  ter  wrestle  wid  dat  water  tell  hit  flattent 
his  tail  out  same  ez  er  shobel,  an'  er  little  mo'n  he'd  er 
los'  his  life ;  but  hit  larnt  him  er  lesson.  I  ain't  nuber 
hyeard  uv  his  meddlin'  wid  nuffin'  fum  dat  time  ter  dis ; 
but,  I  tell  yer,  in  de  hot  summer  nights,  wen  he  hatter 
drag  dat  flat  tail  uv  his'n  atter  him  ev'ywhar  he  go,  'stid 


206  Diddie,  Dumps,  mid  Tot. 

er  havin'  er  nice  handy  tail  wat  he  kin  turn  ober  his  back- 
like  er  squ'l,  I  lay  yer,  mun,  he's  wusht  er  many  er  time 
he'd  er  kep'  his  dev'lment  ter  hisse'f,  an'  let  dem  frogs 
erlone." 

Here  Daddy  Jake  happened  to  look  down,  and  he  caught 
Polly  nodding. 

"  Oh  yes !"  said  the  old  man,  "  yer  may  nod ;  dat's  des 
wat's  de  matter  wid  de  niggers  now,  dem  sleepy-head 
ways  wat  dey  got  is  de  cazhun  uv  dey  hyar  bein'  kunkt 
up  an'  dey  skins  bein'  black." 

"Is  that  what  makes  it,  Daddy?"  asked  Diddie,  much 
interested. 

"  Ub  cose  hit  is,"  replied  Daddy.  "  Ef 'n  de  nigger 
hadn't  ben  so  sleepy-headed,  he'd  er  ben  wite,  an'  his 
hyar'd  er  ben  straight  des  like  yourn.  Yer  see,  atter  de 
Lord  made  'im,  den  he  lont  him  up  'gins  de  fence-corner 
in  de  sun  fur  ter  dry ;  an'  no  sooner  wuz  de  Lord's  back 
turnt,  an'  de  sun  'gun  ter  come  out  kin'er  hot,  dan  de  nig- 
ger he  'gun  ter  nod,  an'  er  little  mo'n  he  wuz  fas'  ter  sleep 
Well,  wen  de  Lord  sont  atter  'im  fur  ter  finish  uv  'im  up, 
de  angel  couldn't  fin'  'im,  caze  he  didn't  know  de  zack  spot 
whar  de  Lord  sot  'im  ;  an'  so  he  hollered  an'  called,  an'  de 
nigger  he  wuz  'sleep,  an'  he  nuber  hyeard  'im  ;  so  de  an- 
gel tuck  de  wite  man,  an'  cyard  him  'long,  an'  de  Lord 
polished  uv  'im  off.  Well,  by'mby  de  nigger  he  waked 
up ;  but,  dar  now !  he  wuz  bu'nt  black,  an'  his  hyar  wuz 
all  swuv'llt  up  right  kinky. 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  207 

"  De  Lord,  seein'  he  wuz  spilte,  he  didn't  'low  fur  ter 
finish  'im,  an'  wuz  des  'bout'n  ter  thow  'im  'way,  wen  de 
wite  man  axt  fur  'im ;  so  de  Lord  he  finished  'im  up  des 
like  he  wuz,  wid  his  skin  black  an'  his  hyar  kunkt  up,  an' 
he  gun  'im  ter  de  wite  man,  an'  I  see  he's  got  'im  plum 
tell  yit." 

"Was  it  you,  Daddy?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  Wy,  no,  honey,  hit  wan't  me,  hit  wuz  my  forecisters." 

"What's  a  forecister,  Daddy?"  asked  Diddie,  rather  cu- 
rious about  the  relationship. 

"  Yer  forecisters/'explained  Daddy,  "  is  dem  uv  yer  way 
back  folks,  wat's  born'd  fo'  you  is  yerse'f,  an'  fo'  yer  pa  is. 
Now,  like  my  ole  marster,  yer  pa's  gran'pa,  wat  riz  me  in 
ole  Furginny,  he's  you  chil'en's  forecister ;  an'  dis  nigger 
wat  I'm  tellin'  yer  'bout'n,  he  waz  my  fuss  forecister ;  an' 
dats'  de  way  dat  I've  allers  hyearn  dat  he  come  ter  be 
black,  an'  his  hyar  kinky ;  an'  I  b'lieves  hit,  too,  caze  er 
nigger's  de  sleepies'-headed  critter  dey  is ;  an'  den,  'sides 
dat,  I've  seed  er  heap  er  niggers  in  my  time,  but  I  ain't 
nuber  seed  dat  nigger  yit  wat's  wite,  an'  got  straight  hyar 
on  his  head. 

"  Now  I  ain't  er  talkin'  'bout'n  murlatters,  caze  dey  ain't 

no  reg'lar  folks  'tall ;  dey's  des  er  mixtry.     Dey  ain't  wite, 

an'  dey  ain't  black,  an'   dey  ain't   nufifin' ;  dey's  des  de 

same  kin'  er  folks  ez  de  muel  is  er  horse  ! 

"  An'  den.  dar's  Injuns;  dey's  ergin  ernudder kin'  er  folks. 
14 


208  Diddie,  Dtimps,  and  Tot. 

"  f  usen  ter  hyear  'em  say  dat  de  deb'l  made  de  fuss 
Injun.  He  seed  de  Lord  er  makin'  folks,  an'  he  'lowed 
he'd  make  him  some ;  so  he  got  up  his  dut  and  his  water, 
an'  all  his  'grejunces,  an'  he  went  ter  wuck  ;  an'  wedder  he 
cooked  him  too  long,  or  wedder  he  put  in  too  much  red 
clay  fur  de  water  wat  he  had,  wy,  I  ain't  nuber  hyeard ; 
but  den  I  knows  de  deb'l  made  'im,  caze  I  allers  hyearn 
so ;  an',  mo'n  dat,  I  done  seed  'em  fo'  now,  an'  dey  got 
mighty  dev'lish  ways.  I  wuz  wid  yer  gran'pa  at  Fort 
Mimms,  down  erbout  Mobile,  an'  I  seed  'em  killin'  folks 
an'  sculpin'  uv  'em ;  an,  mo'n  dat,  ef 'n  I  hadn't  er  crope 
under  er  log,  an'  flattent  myse'f  out  like  er  allergator, 
dey'd  er  got  me ;  an'  den,  ergin,  dey  don't  talk  like  no 
folks.  I  met  er  Injun  one  time  in  de  road,  an'  I  axed  'im 
wuz  he  de  man  wat  kilt  an'  sculpt  Sis  Leah,  wat  usen  ter 
b'longst  ter  yer  gran'pa,  an'  wat  de  Injuns  kilt.  I  axt 
'im  'ticklur,  caze  I  had  my  axe  erlong,  an'  ef 'n  he  wuz  de 
man,  I  'lowed  fur  ter  lay  him  out.  But,  bless  yer  life, 
chile,  he  went  on  fur  ter  say, 

" '  Ump,  ump,  kinterlosha  wannycoola  tusky  noba,  in- 
ickskymuncha  fluxkerscenuck  kintergunter  skoop.' 

"  An'  wen  he  sed  dat,  I  tuck'n  lef '  him,  caze  I  seed  hit 
wouldn't  do  fur  ter  fool  'long  him  ;  an',  mo'n  dat,  he  'gun 
fur  ter  shine  his  eyes  out,  an'  so  I  des  off  wid  my  hat,  an' 
scrope  my  lef  foot,  an'  said,  '  Good  ebenin',  marster," 
same  ez  ef  he  wuz  er  wite  man  ;  an'  den  I  tuck  thu  de 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  209 

woods  tell  I  come  ter  de  fork-han'  een'  er  de  road,  an'  I 
eberlastin'  dusted  fum  dar!  I  put  deze  feets  in  motion, 
yer  hyeard  me!  an'  I  kep'  'em  er  gwine,  too,  tell  I  come 
ter  de  outskwirts  uv  de  quarters ;  an'  eber  sence  den  I  ain't 
stopped  no  Injun  wat  I  sees  in  de  road,  an'  I  ain't  med- 
dled 'long  o'  who  kilt  Sis  Leah,  nudder,  caze  she's  ben  in 
glory  deze  fifty  years  or  mo',  an'  hit's  all  one  to  her  now 
who  sculpt  her." 

But  now,  as  it  was  getting  late,  Daddy  said  he  was 
afraid  to  stay  out  in  the  night  air,  as  it  sometimes  "  gun 
him  de  rheumatiz,"  and  wound  up  his  remarks  by  saying, 

"  Tell  yer  ma  I'm  mighty  'bleeged  fur  de  cake  an' 
drinkin's,  an'  weneber  yer  gits  de  time,  an'  kin  come 
down  hyear  any  ebenin',  de  ole  man  he'll  'struck  yer,  caze 
he's  gwine  erway  fo'  long,  an'  dem  things  wat  he  knows  is 
onbeknownst  ter  de  mos'  uv  folks." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Daddy,"  asked  Diddy. 

"  I  gwine  ter  de  '  kingdum,'  honey,  an'  de  Lord  knows  hit's 
time ;  I  ben  hyear  long  ernuff ;  but  hit's  'bout  time  fur  me 
ter  be  er  startin'  now,  caze  las'  Sat'dy  wuz  er  week  gone 
I  wuz  er  stretchin'  my  ole  legs  in  de  fiel',  an'  er  rabbit  run 
right  ercross  de  road  foreninst  me,  an'  I  knowed  'twuz  er 
sho'  sign  uv  er  death ;  an'  den,  night  fo'  las',  de  scritch- 
owls  wuz  er  talkin'  ter  one  ernudder  right  close  ter  my  do', 
an'  I  knowed  de  time  wuz  come  fur  de  ole  nigger  ter  take 
dat  trip  ;  so,  ef 'n  yer  wants  him  ter  'struck  yer,  yer'd  bet 


210  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

ter  be  er  ten'in'  ter  it,  caze  wen  de  Lord  sen's  fur  'im  he's 
er  gwine." 

The  children  were  very  much  awed  at  Daddy's  fore- 
bodings, and  Dumps  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  him, 
as  she  felt  that  she  would  probably  never  see  him  again, 
and  they  all  bade  him  good-night,  and  started  for  the 
house. 

"  Miss  Diddie,  did  you  know  ole  Daddy  wuz  er  trick 
nigger?"  asked  Dilsey,  as  they  left  the  old  man's  cabin. 

"What's  er  trick  nigger?"  asked  Dumps. 

"  Wy,  don't  yer  know,  Miss  Dumps?  Trick  niggers  dey 
ties  up  snakes'  toofs  an'  frogs'  eyes  an'  birds'  claws,  an' 
all  kineter  charms  ;  an'  den,  wen  dey  gits  mad  'long  o'  folks, 
dey  puts  dem  little  bags  under  dey  do's,  or  in  de  road 
somewhar,  whar  dey'll  hatter  pass,  an'  dem  folks  wat  steps 
ober  'em  den  dey's  tricked;  an'  dey  gits  sick,  an'  dey  can't 
sleep  uv  nights,  an'  dey  chickens  all  dies,  an'  dey  can't 
nuber  hab  no  luck  nor  nuf'n  tell  de  tricks  is  tuck  off. 
Didn't  yer  hyear  wat  he  said  'bout'n  de  snakes?  an'  de 
folks  all  sez  ez  how  ole  Daddy  is  er  trick  nigger,  an'  dat's 
wat  makes  him  don't  die." 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  was  a  trick  nigger,  then,"  remarked 
Dumps,  gravely. 

"  Lordy,  Miss  Dumps,  yer'd  better  not  be  er  talkin'  like 
dat,"  said  Dilsey,  her  eyes  open  wide  in  horror.  "  Hit's 
pow'ful  wicked  ter  be  trick  niggers." 


Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  211 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  Dumps,"  said 
Diddie ;  "  she's  gettin'  ter  be  so  sinful ;  an'  ef  she  don't 
stop  it,  I  sha'n't  sleep  with  her.  She'll  be  er  breakin'  out 
with  the  measles  or  sump'n  some  uv  these  days,  jes  fur  er 
judgment  on  her;  an'  I  don't  want  ter  be  catchin'  no 
judgments  just  on  account  of  her  badness." 

"  Well,  I'll  take  it  back,  Diddie,"  humbly  answered 
Dumps.  "  I  didn't  know  it  was  wicked ;  and  won't  you 
sleep  with  me  now?" 

Diddie  having  promised  to  consider  the  matter,  the  lit- 
tle folks  walked  slowly  on  to  the  house,  Dilsey  and  Chris 
and  Riar  all  taking  turns  in  telling  them  the  wonderful 
spells  and  cures  and  troubles  that  Daddy  Jake  had  wrought 
with  his  "  trick-bags." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

WHAT   BECAME,  OF   THEM. 

WELL,  of  course,  I  can't  tell  you  all  that  happened 
to  these  little  girls.  I  have  tried  to  give  you 
some  idea  of  how  they  lived  in  their  Mississippi  home, 
and  I  hope  you  have  been  amused  and  entertained ;  and 
now,  as  "  Diddie"  said  about  her  book,  I've  got  to  "  wind 
up,"  and  tell  you  what  became  of  them. 

The  family  lived  happily  on  the  plantation  until  the 
war  broke  out  in  1861. 

Then  Major  Waldron  clasped  his  wife  to  his  heart,  kissed 
his  daughters,  shook  hands  with  his  faithful  slaves,  and 
went  as  a  soldier  to  Virginia ;  and  he  is  sleeping  now  on 
the  slope  of  Malvern  Hill,  where  he 

"Nobly  died  for  Dixie." 

The  old  house  was  burned  during  the  war,  and  on  the  old 
plantation  where  that  happy  home  once  stood  there  are 
now  three  or  four  chimneys  and  an  old  tumbled-down 
gin-house.     That  is  all. 

The  agony  of  those  terrible  days  of  war,  together  with 


Diddte,  Dumps,  and  Tot.  2 1 3 

the  loss  of  her  husband  and  home,  broke  the  heart  and 
sickened  the  brain  of  Mrs.  Waldron ;  and  in  the  State  Lu- 
natic Asylum  is  an  old  white-haired  woman,  with  a  weary, 
patient  look  in  her  eyes,  and  this  gentle  old  woman,  who 
sits  day  after  day  just  looking  out  at  the  sunshine  and  the 
flowers,  is  the  once  beautiful  "  mamma"  of  Diddie,  Dumps, 
and  Tot. 

Diddie  grew  up  to  be  a  very  pretty,  graceful  woman, 
and  when  the  war  began  was  in  her  eighteenth  year.  She 
was  engaged  to  one  of  the  young  men  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  and,  though  she  was  so  young,  her  father  consented 
to  the  marriage,  as  her  lover  was  going  into  the  army,  and 
wanted  to  make  her  his  wife  before  leaving.  So,  early  in 
'6 1,  before  Major  Waldron  went  to  Virginia,  there  was  a 
quiet  wedding  in  the  parlor  one  night ;  and  not  many  days 
afterwards  the  young  Confederate  soldier  donned  his  gray 
coat,  and  rode  away  with  Forrest's  Cavalry, 

"And  ere  long  a  messenger  came, 
Bringing  the  sad,  sad  story — 
A  riderless  horse  :  a  funeral  march : 
Dead  on  the  field  of  glory !" 

After  his  death  her  baby  came  to  gladden  the  young 
widow's  desolate  life ;  and  he  is  now  almost  grown,  hand- 
some and  noble,  and  the  idol  of  his  mother. 

Diddie  is  a  widow  still.  She  was  young  and  pretty 
when  the  war  ended,  and  has  had  many  offers  of  marriage; 


214  Diddie,  Dumps,  and  Tot. 

but  a  vision  of  a  cold  white  face,  with  its  fair  hair 
dabbled  in  blood,  is  ever  in  her  heart.  So  Diddie  lives 
for  her  boy.  Their  home  is  in  Natchez  now  ;  for  of  course 
they  could  never  live  in  the  old  place  any  more.  When 
the  slaves  were  free,  they  had  no  money  to  rebuild  the 
houses,  and  the  plantation  has  never  been  worked  since 
the  war. 

The  land  is  just  lying  there  useless,  worthless ;  and  the 
squirrels  play  in  and  out  among  the  trees,  and  the  mock- 
ing-birds sing  in  the  honeysuckles  and  magnolias  and 
rose-bushes  where  the  front  yard  used  to  be. 

And  at  the  quarters,  where  the  happy  slave-voices  used 
to  sing  "  Monkey  Motions,"  and  the  merry  feet  used  to 
dance  to  "  Cotton-eyed  Joe,"  weeds  and  thick  underbrush 
have  all  grown  up,  and  partridges  build  their  nests  there ; 
and  sometimes,  at  dusk,  a  wild-cat  or  a  fox  may  be  seen 
stealing  across  the  old  play-ground. 

Tot,  long  years  ago,  before  the  war  even,  when  she  was 
yet  a  pure,  sinless  little  girl,  was  added  to  that  bright  band 
of  angel  children  who  hover  around  the  throne  of  God ; 
and  so  she  was  already  there,  you  see,  to  meet  and  wel- 
come her  "  papa "  when  his  stainless  soul  went  up  from 
Malvern  Hill. 

Well,  for  "  Mammy  "  and  "  Daddy  Jake  "  and  "  Aunt 
Milly"  and  "Uncle  Dan'l,"  "  dat  angel"  has  long  since 
"  blowed  de  horn,"  and  I  hope  and  believe  they  are  hap- 


Diddle^  Dumps^  and  Tot.  215 

pily  walking  "dem  golden  streets"  in  which  they  had 
such  implicit  faith,  and  of  which  they  never  wearied  of 
telling. 

And  the  rest  of  the  negroes  are  all  scattered ;  some 
doing  well,  some  badly ;  some  living,  some  dead.  Aunt 
Sukey's  Jim,  who  married  Candace  that  Christmas-night, 
is  a  politician.  He  has  been  in  the  Legislature,  and  spends 
his  time  in  making  long  and  exciting  speeches  to  the  loyal 
leaguers  against  the  Southern  whites,  all  unmindful  of  his 
happy  childhood,  and  of  the  kind  and  generous  master 
who  strove  in  every  way  to  render  his  bondage  (for  which 
that  master  was  in  no  way  to  blame)  a  light  and  happy 
one. 

Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob  is  living  still.  He  has  a  little 
candy-store  in  a  country  town.  He  does  not  meddle  with 
politics.  He  says,  "  I  don't  cas'  my  sufifrins  fur  de  Dim- 
ercracks,  nur  yit  fur  de  'Publicans.  I  can't  go  'ginst  my 
color  by  votin'  de  Dimercrack  papers;  an'  ez  fur  dem 
'Publicans !  Well,  ole  Bob  he  done  hyearn  wat  de  Book 
say  'boutn  publicans  an'  sinners,  an'  dat's  ernuff  fur  him. 
He's  er  gittin'  uperds  in  years  now ;  pretty  soon  he'll 
hatter  shove  off  fur  dat  '  heb'nly  sho' ;'  an'  wen  de  Lord 
sen'  atter  him,  he  don't  want  dat  angel  ter  cotch  him  in 
no  kinwunshuns  'long  wid  '  publicans  an'  sinners.'  "  And 
so  Uncle  Bob  attends  to  his  store,  and  mends  chairs  and 
tubs,  and  deals  extensively  in    chickens  and  eggs ;  and 


216  Diddie,  Dumps ;  mid  Tot, 

perhaps  he  is  doing  just  as  well  as  if  he  were  in  Con- 
gress. 

Dilsey  and  Chris  and  Riar  are  all  women  now,  and  are  all 
married  and  have  children  of  their  own ;  and  nothing  de- 
lights them  more  than  to  tell  to  their  little  ones  what  "  us 
an'  de  wite  chil'en  usen  ter  do." 

And  the  last  I  heard  of  Aunt  Nancy,  the  "  tender,"  she 
was  going  to  school,  but  not  progressing  very  rapidly. 
She  did  learn  her  letters  once,  but,  having  to  stop  school 
to  make  a  living,  she  soon  forgot  them,  and  she  explained 
it  by  saying : 

"  Yer  see,  honey,  dat  man  wat  larnt  me  dem  readin's,  he 
wuz  sich  er  onstedfus'  man,  an'  gittin'  drunk,  an'  votin' 
an'  sich,  tell  I  furgittin'  wat  he  larnt  me ;  but  dey's  er  col- 
ored gemman  fum  de  Norf  wat's  tuck  him  up  er  pay-school 
ober  hyear  in  de  'catermy,  an'  ef'n  I  kin  git  him  fur  ter 
take  out'n  his  pay  in  dat  furmifuge  wat  I  makes,  I  'low 
ter  go  ter  him  er  time  er  two,  caze  he's  er  membah  ub  de 
Zion  Chu'ch,  an'  er  mighty  stedfus'  man,  an'  dat  wat  he 
larns  me  den  I'll  stay  larnt." 

And  Dumps?  Well,  the  merry,  light-hearted  little  girl 
is  an  "  old  maid  "  now  ;  and  if  Mammy  could  see  her,  she 
would  think  she  was  "  steady"  enough  at  last. 

Somebody,  you  know,  must  attend  to  the  wants  and 
comfort  of  the  gray-haired  woman  in  the  asylum  ;  and 
Diddic  had  her  boy  to  support  and  educate,  so  Dumps 


t 

Diddie,  Dttmps,  and  Tot.  217 

teaches  school  and  takes  care  of  her  mother,  and  is  doing 
what  Uncle  Snake-bit  Bob  told  the  Sunday-school  chil- 
dren that  God  had  made  them  to  do ;  for 

Dumps  is  doing  "DE  BES'  SHE  KIN." 


s 


